Shadow Rising
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 21) Despite thinking he had left most of his past behind, Drake receives an immensely unwelcome visit from a relative. However, it sounds like his family wants to make amends with him, and Drake is forced to decide where his loyalties lie.
1. Chapter 1

I woke up this morning not feeling . . . much of anything.

I've had plenty of mornings like that, where I wake up not feeling any single emotion. Sometimes, it's actually nothing, and sometimes it's a lot of emotions all at once.

The nothingness was laced with a sense of dread and uncertainty, and I wasn't really sure what it meant.

I've been feeling off ever since the squad was relocated to Brazil. Not a terrible place to be, but you know I don't take certain changes well.

We got the bunk beds again, and they were actually better than the ones we had in Spain months and months ago. The mattresses were passable, and they didn't have pillows, so we could get our own pillows, provided they weren't bigger than the fucking bunk itself. Which sucks because I found this giant plush pillow that I could lay on all day.

Anyways, the move wasn't exactly uneventful. Not even three days after we arrived in Rio, the Marines stationed up in Manaus needed supplies, so Hicks sent Spunkmeyer and Ferro to deliver.

Spunkmeyer and Ferro got shot down by a group of rebels hiding in the Amazon. When they didn't come back at the scheduled time, everyone was worried. We waited and waited, and we got nothing. No one was at all prepared to deal with the possibility that our two pilots might've been killed.

We couldn't just crash into the jungle looking for them, but at least we didn't have to wait long to get authorization from USCM Command and the Brazilian military to go searching. Thankfully, we found them, albeit in rough shape. Spunkmeyer badly injured his ankle, and Ferro had contracted an infection from a nasty wound on her arm.

So far, Spunkmeyer hasn't told us the details of their time in the jungle, and I can't blame him. It sounds like it was hell, especially since they were being chased by these insurgents and their Annexers.

The Annexers weren't too hard to handle-at least for me. One took a sniff of me and didn't make a move. I think it's because I'm covered in the scents of so many other Annexers. Who knows. The little fuck didn't attack me and that's all I care about.

I stretched and lay on my belly while listening to Hicks bang on the door, telling us to get up. In the bunk above me, Hudson was yawning . . . and then passed gas.

"Classy," I said.

"Thanks, man!" Hudson replied.

"Do you have any manners at all?" Wierzbowski groaned while sitting up.

"Uh . . ."

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Spunkmeyer glared up at Hudson. "You have no shame, that's what."

"You missed me, man," Hudson laughed.

Spunkmeyer pulled himself out of his bunk, his bandaged ankle clearly slowing him down. It was bad enough to need surgery, so he's out of commission for about a month. He kept giving Hudson a dirty look.

We got dressed and headed down to the mess hall. Part of me felt like today was just going to be normal. We'd train, we'd play, Hudson would be Hudson. Nothing would be off. I _hoped_ that's what we were in for.

I mean, this conversation topic sold it:

"Why the fuck do some people put ketchup on scrambled eggs? That is just as disgusting as everything Hudson does in the bathroom," Spunkmeyer said.

"Some people just like ketchup on their eggs, I guess," Dietrich replied. "Why do you like being a dickhead in the morning?"

"And why does everyone compare everything gross to me, man?" Hudson asked.

"Because you are the most disgusting human being anyone's ever had to suffer with."

"It's a little early for you to be worked up, Dietrich," Wierzbowski said, softly.

Without a word, Dietrich looked down at her breakfast.

"I will admit ketchup on eggs doesn't look appetizing," Wierzbowski added.

"Doesn't smell good, either," I said. "What's next? Ketchup on fried eggs? That thought just made my stomach turn."

"Mine, too, man," Hudson replied.

Hicks was giving us all a look. "Do you guys have anything better to talk about in the morning."

"I don't think so, man."

"We're banned from bathroom talk, so, yeah, we got nothing else to talk about," I added.

Apone gave me a dirty look. "Don't you start, Drake."

"I won't, I won't."

* * *

We did some shooting drills after breakfast, and then I went looking for Ferro. Her illness wasn't overly serious, but it was enough to keep her off-duty while a powerful antibiotic was in her system. She seemed tired more frequently, and who can blame her? That, and she just got out of a hellish experience.

I found her in the loading bay, sitting on a crate while watching some maintenance guys go in and out of the new dropship. Without saying anything, I sat next to her, sighing before saying, "Hey."

"Hey, Drake," Ferro replied, not looking at me. "What do you want?"

"Just came to talk to you," I said. "You looked . . . sad and lonely."

Ferro was quiet for a moment. "I guess I am. I'm . . . kinda worried about Spunkmeyer. He's been quiet ever since we got back. I know why, but I don't understand why he's not . . . talking to me. His own girlfriend."

"I sometimes have a hard time talking to Vasquez about what's going on in my head," I said. "A lot of times, it's because I don't know how to word what's going on in my head, not because I don't trust her. That might be what's also going on with Spunkmeyer. I wouldn't be too . . . upset, if that's the right word. Worried? Yes. Upset?" I shrugged. "If you act upset, that might deter him from wanting to talk to you about what's going on."

Ferro nodded, then finally looked at me. "Thanks, Drake."

I put my arm around her, rubbing her shoulder reassuringly. "No problem. Wanna go explore the city? Maybe take a walk on the beach?"

"Can't leave base till I get the OK from Dietrich."

"Am I allowed to kiss you?"

"Probably not."

I kissed her forehead anyway. "You look like you need one. And maybe a hug."

Ferro adjusted herself to hug me, resting her head on my shoulder. She didn't say anything, even though I could sense there was more in her head that she wasn't telling me. I understood completely. Sometimes, all anyone wants is someone to hold, to feel better before they feel comfortable saying anything. She didn't feel like going to Spunkmeyer, so she went to me.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, a lot longer than we usually hug each other. Eventually, we let go, and Ferro left without so much as a "bye." I remained where I was on the crate. I know how hard it is to just tell someone what's wrong, and I know I can't pressure Ferro into talking to me, or anyone. Including Spunkmeyer.

* * *

It's been almost a year since I had to postpone my CPR recertification. I'm the only person in the unit who doesn't have it. Today, Dr. Ranelli wanted to see if I was capable of passing the test. His plan was this; I practice in his office, and if all goes well, I will take the test in his office.

Frankly, I just can't believe it's been a year since I started therapy.

Ranelli already had a practice dummy laid out on the floor. I told him I needed to do this unassisted-meaning, no coaching, no relaxing music, no nothing.

You'd think that since I knew this was coming, I'd be OK. It's . . . honestly a lot harder than you think it is.

It's been a long, long time since I had any flashbacks related to rescuing Hudson. I don't think that means they've gone away. They're just sleeping.

I knelt by the dummy, trying to tell myself that it was just a plastic model. I began the compressions, calmly, at first. As I pressed down harder, I started to feel lightheaded and nauseated. I started to hear a heartbeat. Was it mine? Or was it Hudson's?

It can't be Hudson's. I'm not trying to revive Hudson.

The memory surged forward with the force of a tidal wave. I was carrying Hudson out of the building, hearing him choking. The next thing I knew, I was being told to sit back and breathe.

Ranelli waited for me to emerge from my mind before saying anything to me. "I don't think you'd pass the test."

"You think?" I said.

Ranelli ignored my snarky remark. "I think what we're going to try is continuous exposure. You will practice CPR once a day, until you no longer suffer a flashback in the process."

"How's that supposed to work?"

"It's to desensitize you to the process. I should've done that a long time ago with you."

I fell silent for a moment. "I do remember you saying you'd try 'prolonged exposure' with me."

"I did say that. You've improved greatly in terms of cognitive processing, but what I've observed is that you still shut down when confronted with certain stressors."

"I didn't think I had any control over that."

"You do and you don't. You have to work to gain control over that response."

I nodded.

"I hope you understand I am very proud of you. You have grown significantly over the last year."

I wasn't sure what to say, because Ranelli saying that got me thinking for the rest of the day.

I guess I didn't notice it until Ranelli actually said he was proud of me, and I'm probably the only one who feels this way, but I got the impression that he's been just as much as a father figure to me as he has been my therapist.

If there's anyone in my family I'd be comfortable talking to again, it'd be my father. The trouble is getting him alone. It always was. I probably inherited my emotional difficulties from him. Maybe I had a higher chance of PTSD, or any other mental disorder, because of that. I don't know.

I can't say he was never around, because he was around. Just not emotionally. I know he remained in a miserable job because it was paying enough for us to be sustained, but no matter how many times he brought up that he wanted to quit, my mother wouldn't let him. That much I remember. She used the same argument over and over-"This is better for your children," and he offered no resistance. I can remember him trying so hard to teach me things about manhood.

After all, he was the one who taught me how to shoot. And it was his gun I took when I ran away.

I do wonder, at times, if he managed to get himself in a better place. Maybe he got a divorce when my sister was old enough to be independent. Maybe he's tried to contact me.

Or not. It's been a little over four years. Faylene should be moved out by now. Dad has no reason to stay.

Then again, with the way things were, I wouldn't put it past him to . . . do what General Paulson did.

I didn't tell Ranelli any of the explicit details, but he knew I was distant, emotionally, from my family. I guess he's been trying to be a father figure to me. Now, I know he doesn't need to teach me about the proper way to treat a lady, or sex, or shaving, or anything else every man should know, but he has been teaching me things that everyone should know, because we all have emotions, and sometimes, they get out of control. Sometimes, there's something wrong with them, and we need help to get them back in a more manageable place.

I know damn well Dad didn't have that. He was probably afraid to get help. Maybe that's why I've been an integral part of some of the relationships my friends have, because, subconsciously, I don't want to see them end up like my parents.

I decided to keep these thoughts to myself.

While laying in my bunk with my journal, I didn't hear Hudson walk in, whistling. "Hey, man," he said, knocking on the side of the bed.

"What?" I asked.

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah." I closed my journal. "Do you need something?"

"I was just gonna ask if you wanted to join me and 'Ski for dinner later. There's this beachside restaurant I saw on my walk earlier. It smelled so good, man-"

"Alright, alright, I'll come with you." I climbed down from my bunk, and had another thought. "Is Spunkmeyer allowed out yet?"

"Uh . . . I don't think so. Three days, Dietrich checks him, and then he can leave base if he wants." Hudson glanced toward the door. "I'm worried about him, man. He's been . . . quiet."

"You know what's funny? Ferro said the exact same thing to me this morning."

"Jesus."

"Well, they both just got out of a terrifying experience. It doesn't surprise me they're both not themselves. Just give them some time, and they'll open up about it when they're ready. It took you a long time to talk about what happened with you when you were trapped in Hornby's lab."

Hudson nodded. "Yeah. I just hope they don't suppress their memories like I did, man."

* * *

It was nice for it to just be the three of us going somewhere. That was something that would never change, no matter where we get stationed.

Wierzbowski and I followed Hudson down a street along the beach, to a diner with long windows offering a panoramic view of the water. I was just glad there weren't a lot of people inside. We were seated, and given drink menus, and Wierzbowski asked for water.

After Hudson and I ordered our drinks, we handed the menus back to the waitress, and we shot the breeze.

"I tried calling Eliza this morning. Didn't get an answer, but I left a message," Wierzbowski started. "Been a little . . . on edge all day over it. I'm thousands of miles away from her."

"I know how you feel, man," Hudson replied. "It sucks." He looked at me. "At least your girlfriend's with you twenty-four-seven, man."

I shrugged. "I don't get cuddles anymore."

We were served our drinks, and Hudson took a few gulps of his beer before continuing the conversation. "I just realized, man, we're probably gonna be here for Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"And?" I said.

"Christmas ain't Christmas without snow, man."

"At least we all have each other. Not like any of us have family we're dying to see again." I took a sip of my whiskey.

"It is a pity Eliza and I can't spend our first Christmas as a couple together," Wierzbowski said.

"Same here, man. I'll ask Miranda to send me goodies," Hudson added.

"And Vasquez and I will probably go fuck behind the armory or something. Joy to the world." I looked down at my glass.

Hudson snorted. Wierzbowski raised an eyebrow. "Is . . . everything alright, Drake? Surely, you haven't have that much to drink for you to be such a dump."

I sighed. "Sorry. Just . . . was thinking about something that happened earlier today."

"Like what, man?" Hudson asked.

"Well . . . after my therapy session today, Ranelli told me that he was proud of me, and I . . . I wondered if . . . all this time, he's been a father figure to me."

"It's possible," Wierzbowski said. "Was your father . . . not involved much in your life?"

"Yes and no. It's . . . not something I feel like I can explain just yet. I mean . . . I . . . w-what am I going to do when he decides I'm ready to function without therapy, and leaves? I can't be emotionally attached."

"I think that's something he'll discuss with you in time."

"Yeah," Hudson said. "You really are getting better, man. We can all see it. This will be no problem for you." He smiled and patted my shoulder.

I nodded a little. "Thanks. That was the only thing on my mind. Everything is . . . peachy with me."

Hudson raised his glass, and downed the rest of his drink.

We talked until we ordered dinner. Hudson didn't say a word as he ate. Just giving the occasional moan or "This is so good, man."

Wierzbowski and I left him alone.

"I know the holidays are a few months off, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to start planning something," Wierzbowski said.

"We'll take everyone out to dinner at a fancy place. Put up a Charlie Brown tree in the lounge. Ho, ho, ho, Hallelujah, Merry Christmas."

Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest. "I think we can put in more effort than that."

"Christmas is three-and-a-half months away, man," Hudson said with his mouth full. "Plenty of time for us to plan."

I guess the reason I was hesitant on this was because I was jealous. They had people that they wanted to see and spend the holidays with. I don't. I got halfway through my dinner when I realized I was picking at it. You can't bring a box of food back to base, so I gave it to our living disposal unit.

Hudson somehow managed to have a full dinner, plus half of mine, and a beer. He put down his fork and leaned back in his seat, loosening his belt and giving a contented sigh.

"You're going to funk up the bedroom," I said.

"No guarantees, man," Hudson replied.

"By all you just ate, I'd say it is a guarantee," Wierzbowski muttered.

* * *

We had to be back before curfew, and as soon as we entered our living section of the base, Hicks told us to grab our nightclothes and get in the shower.

The other guys were already in and getting undressed. Hudson stripped and didn't bother wrapping a towel around his waist when he went in the showers, just hanging the towel on a hook by his stall before closing himself in.

"Do you do this at your girlfriend's?" Wierzbowski asked.

"What, man?" Hudson replied.

"Just get naked and walk around with no sense of decency."

Hudson thought for a moment. "She's OK with it, man."

That got laughter out of the rest of us. "Miranda is literally the only human being who can stand seeing Hudson naked!" I said.

"All the other women didn't care because they were too drunk and insane to notice!" Frost laughed.

"Fuck you, man," Hudson mumbled.

"Grow up," Wierzbowski said.

"I'll grow up when you get a sense of humor, man."

"Don't start," Hicks growled. "Finish up your showers quietly if you wanna go to the lounge. I hear one more argument, and you're going to bed early."

"Sorry, man."

* * *

_Question: How might Drake struggle with the possibility of his therapist leaving in the future?_


	2. Chapter 2

I was snuggled up under my blankets at four in the morning when I heard Hudson climbing down from his bunk, muttering something about how dinner was messing with him. I resisted the urge to gripe at him, and instead covered my head with a blanket, trying to go back to sleep.

You can imagine my frustration when it felt like five minutes passed before I heard Hicks banging on the door to wake up. Wierzbowski and Spunkmeyer slowly sat up, and Hudson was stirring and groaning in the bunk above me. I tried to stay put as long as I could, but Wierzbowski shook me gently. "Drake. Drake, we have to get up."

"I know!" I growled.

I was still tucking my shirt in my pants as I followed the others to breakfast. I know they grow coffee here in Brazil, and damn I wanted some freshly brewed Brazilian coffee. Or any coffee. Just not base coffee.

Breakfast was . . . a crappy base breakfast. I noticed Wierzbowski and I had switched places at the table, and he was now sitting next to Dietrich. Normally, Wierzbowski's at the end, I'm next to him, Frost is next to me, and Dietrich is next to Frost. Places switched, for some reason. I mean, it happens, but ever since Ferro said something about how Dietrich is acting weird (who am I kidding, she's always a little weird) around Wierzbowski, I'm starting to think it's more than just a simple switch.

The question is whether or not Wierzbowski has the same feelings. He's genuinely good friends with Dietrich, but he's also dating Eliza. He might not even be aware Dietrich has feelings for him, and everyone knows Wierzbowski has no plans on cheating on Eliza. It's not like him. He's doggedly loyal to everyone he cares about, and Eliza has given him no good reason to consider breaking up.

Then again, it could just be Ferro trying to find something interesting to talk about. At the same time, I've never known her to be gossipy or someone who spreads rumors just for shits and giggles.

And who wants to spread gossip with me of all people?

I finished my breakfast and went down to Ranelli's office to practice CPR again. My stomach didn't take too kindly to being anxious immediately after eating, but at least it was just nausea and no vomit. Like I said yesterday, knowing something is coming doesn't do much of anything to prevent that anxiety, and Ranelli told me afterward that the flashbacks will gradually stop and the only thing I'll feel is pure anxiety. The _fear_ of having a flashback instead of actually having a flashback. It's like dry heaves; really unpleasant, but nothing happens. It won't go away overnight, or the day after tomorrow, or next week, but it will become less and less of an issue the more I do this.

When Ranelli was putting the CPR dummy away, I was tempted to tell him about my thoughts yesterday when he told me he was proud of me, but I hesitated. At the same time, I feel like he already knows I see him as a father figure. He seems to know what's on my mind at any given time, only because he's taken the time to understand my thought patterns and behaviors and put them into perspective.

I also knew that if I didn't bring this up, it would bug the crap out of me until I said something, so I turned away from the door and said, "Can I discuss something with you?"

"Of course, Drake," Ranelli replied, closing up the dummy in a large box before sliding it under a table.

I sat on the couch, looking at my half-empty coffee mug. "Yesterday, you . . . told me you were proud of me, and I started thinking a little bit, and . . . came to realize that . . . I see you as a father figure. Is that . . . good or bad?"

He wasn't shocked. He sat across from me. "It can be both. Good because it is vital that someone has such a figure in their lives. Bad because there will come a time where I must leave, and it may be unlikely we speak to each other ever again. It would be a disservice to you if you felt . . . abandoned." He looked me in the eye. "You do know that you're not the only patient I will ever see, correct?"

I nodded. "I guess I wanted to know if you had done that on purpose. You know, being that kind of figure for me."

"You never explicitly said so, but I had the strong feeling that your father . . . wasn't always there for you, and you desired his companionship."

I nodded again. "I never understood what was wrong when I was younger. He worked a job he was miserable with, and . . . he couldn't quit. I-I know I've heard of people who work miserable jobs and are still happy because they love their children and they're doing this for their children, but . . . he wasn't happy. I can remember that. He always came home really late during the school year because he was tasked with picking up my sister from whatever shit she did after school, and . . . I can remember he hated it."

"He was very likely suffering from depression."

"Yeah, and he wasn't getting help. I think he was scared."

"Scared, or believed he was beyond help. Much like you felt when you were diagnosed with PTSD." Ranelli added some more coffee to my mug. "Regardless, he wasn't there for you emotionally, and that may have contributed to many of your current behaviors."

"Genetically?"

"Possibly. But, you also observed his behavior, and even though you weren't a hundred percent knowledgeable about what was actually going on, you still noticed it on a subconscious level. And, yes, it is possible that you inherited a higher chance of developing a mental disorder. There are multiple factors in the development of mental disorders, and it's why we still can't definitively prove what causes them. To answer your original question of whether I _intended_ to be a father figure for you . . . I did not, but I knew you were starting to see me as one. That was your own doing because of the lack of a father figure in your life. Am I mad? No. However . . . I don't exactly view you as another son. You're a patient, and a friend, but not another son. I hope that doesn't disappoint you."

I shook my head. "No, I'm not disappointed. I guess . . . another thing on my mind was that . . . even though I don't want to reconnect with my family, I would try to reconnect with my father if I had the chance. That's not possible, because I know the rest of them would try to get involved, and . . . it's impossible to sit down with him alone. Hell, I don't even know if he's alive. I cut all contact with them when I was sent to prison."

Ranelli thought for a moment. "The only person who can make the decision about reconnecting with him is you, and you have to be firm with the rest of your family about leaving the two of you alone."

"I don't even know if he's still alive."

"You're the only person who can find out. This is your personal decision, Drake. I can advise you, but I will not take any steps for you."

* * *

I joined the others in the gym after leaving Ranelli's office, and I was completely unsurprised to see Hudson had somehow gotten stuck in the ab machine. I would later learn that something broke and the machine had him crunching its max weight, which he couldn't lift, so he was stuck in an uncomfortable-looking position while Wierzbowski, Dietrich, and Frost tried to figure out how to free him. Of course, someone would have to tinker with the machine's computer systems . . . but the technician was kinda stuck in the machine at the moment.

"Crowe! Get over here, mate, we need your help!" Wierzbowski shouted.

Crowe set his weights down, and he was followed by Hicks and Apone. Neither of them looked particularly impressed.

"Hudson," Apone said.

"Yeah, Sarge?" Hudson grunted.

"You doing OK?"

"So far, man."

"Why is it always you who does shit like this?"

"It wasn't my fault, man. I went down to do another rep, then I heard a beeping sound. Suddenly I can't lift it."

"How much weight is on there?" Dietrich asked.

"Nine-hundred and ninety-nine pounds," Crowe replied. "Maximum weight alright. One of the wires must've short-circuited."

"I can't lift that," Wierzbowski said. "How the hell are we supposed to get him out?"

"You take one side, I'll take the other." Frost looked at me. "Drake can take the back."

I don't know if our combined strength can lift all 999 pounds. That's roughly 333 pounds per person. Wierzbowski can lift that easily, but if Frost and I slacked, he might hurt himself, which we didn't want.

He and Frost were lifting the "arms" of the machine, while I was pulling the back of the seat toward me. Hudson was told to help by pushing up, but once he had an opening, he had to bolt before we dropped the seat on him.

I swear, I was using every muscle I had to pull on the seat. It was really painful, even with Wierzbowski and Frost's help. We did, by some miracle, begin lifting the seat, and I could feel the strain in my arms and torso.

"Alright, Hudson, go!" Wierzbowski grunted.

Hudson wriggled out, stumbling as he stood up upon being freed from the machine. We dropped the seat, and a loud _clang_ echoed through the gym. Hudson released his breath, rubbing his lower back. "Thanks, man."

"You owe us, bud," Frost said.

"Not my fault it broke, man."

"We'll buy you a beer next time we go out," I replied.

"Buy me dinner and a beer and we're good, man."

"Deal."

Hicks folded his arms over his chest. "Now that you're free, Hudson, you can fix the machine."

Hudson gave him a look. "Hey, look, man, I-"

"Fix it." Hicks glared at Hudson until he was kneeling by the ab machine, peering into the system.

I decided to go entertain Vasquez and Ferro by doing shirtless pull-ups and sit-ups. When the hour was up, I went out to the courtyard, alone with my journal. It was quiet for a little while, which gave me plenty of time to just think and write down whatever was going on in my head at the time.

I really didn't have that much for breakfast, so I was starving when we were called down to the mess hall for lunch. Frankly, I've never lost my appetite as quickly as I did that afternoon. It was supposed to be tomato soup and a grilled cheese, but it was more like tomato water and two pieces of toasted bread with a piece of cheese in between them, and this is the kind of cheese that is only good when it's melted. This was not melted.

Two bad meals in a row. That'll kill your mood in a heartbeat. I will say I was glad that was the only thing pissing me off. It was nice to have that be my only complaint of the day.

But, I decided to take Vasquez out to dinner, so I wasn't having three crappy meals. And I was having alone-time with my girlfriend, so that's a plus. Just don't tell her that was secondary.

We went to a beachside diner (not the one Hudson and Wierzbowski and I went to last night), and I figured now was a good time to talk to Vasquez about my conversation with Ranelli. I'm well-aware that the decision to contact my father is mine alone, but I trust Vasquez, and I feel like her thoughts matter.

I explained my dilemma, and my thoughts, and gave her a moment to think about it. She looked down at her drink while thinking, and then looked back up at me. "How badly do you want to reconnect with your father?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't say terribly bad. I don't even know if I'd take the chance if it ever came up."

"Would you respond if he contacted you first?"

"I think . . . I think I would, and pray I don't regret it."

"And there's a fifty percent chance you're going to regret it."

"All I can do is try."

"What's holding you back, then?"

"The rest of my family. If I were to call, I know my mother would pick up the phone, and I know . . . she'd talk to me. Right now, I don't know if I want to give her a second chance. She can be pushy and probably wouldn't let me talk to my father. If he's still alive."

"You've been doing fine without him. I don't know if reconnecting would make things better or worse, but this is entirely up to you."

I sighed. "Sorry for asking, then."

"No, Drake, it's . . . fine. I don't know your family, and I don't think it'd be right for me to make a call based on what little I know. And for the record, I don't want to see you get more hurt than you already are."

"I know." I reached across the table to take her hand. "I appreciate your concern."

Vasquez squeezed my hand. A small smile came across her face.

I smiled as well. "I'm just glad we've got some alone time together."

She nodded.

"Did I tell you I love you today?"

"You did not."

"Well, I love you."

"I love you, too."

We both leaned over the table to kiss each other, pulling apart when our food arrived. I was wolfing down my dinner, completely ignoring everything else around me. I forgot what it was called. It was a Brazilian pork dish of some kind, nice and savory and the meat was tender. The polar opposite of the crap on base.

Vasquez watched me eat, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, I saw you have breakfast and lunch, yet you're eating like you've been starved all day."

"Breakfast and lunch were terrible, honey," I said with my mouth full.

"You don't need to eat like an animal."

I grinned at her. "You only want me to be an animal in bed."

Her expression didn't change, but I knew deep down she thought it was funny. And true. "Yeah, I do. Just not in a restaurant."

"Well, I'm sorry. It's been a long and . . . It's been a long day, that's all. Part of me likes it when it's average, and another part of me doesn't."

"Hudson got stuck in the ab machine. That's something."

"Yeah, but it's not unusual for Hudson to get stuck in anything. I mean, I don't want Spunkmeyer and Ferro getting lost again, but I don't . . . want things to get . . . too boring. Then it starts to feel like prison."

Vasquez sighed. "Yeah. I get what you mean."

"I know it's not prison, but . . . that doesn't stop those feelings from coming out of whatever dark hole inside my brain they're sitting in."

Vasquez nodded. "Not much we can do about it. Just have to find ways to deal with boredom. In a productive way."

"We got, what, three years until they decide we can leave the Marines?"

"Yeah. Three years. Halfway there."

"Feels like it's been a lot longer than three years."

Another nod.

"Three plus the two I was in prison. Five years. And it all started when I was sixteen." I sighed. "And I'm not getting those years back."

"No, you're not." Vasquez thought for a moment, then gave me a look. "You don't regret your years in the Marines, do you?"

"No. I wouldn't trade this for the world, and . . . I wouldn't trade you, either. I wouldn't have met you if . . . none of this happened. Somehow, I knew it was meant to be when I first looked you in the eyes. If that makes any sense to you."

She nodded again. "I felt the same way, but I certainly didn't say it."

Our meeting and falling in love is one of the few memories I actually enjoy revisiting from prison. We had things in common. We were burdened with guilt, and yet we found happiness with each other.

We confessed our feelings to each other on an early summer day. They always let us stay outside a little longer in the summer months, sometimes till sunset. The sky was slowly turning pinkish-orange and our shadows lengthened. We were sitting with our backs against one of the buildings, enjoying the heat of the day.

We hadn't said much to each other since Vasquez found me sitting and decided to join me. She glanced at me once, then resumed looking out at the sunset and the other prison buildings. A minute later, she looked at me again. "Drake?"

"Yes?" I replied.

She worked her jaw, and sighed, looking down at the ground. She was quiet for another few minutes, before saying, "Drake, you know I don't . . . always . . . express how I feel."

"I know."

More silence. "I've been thinking about . . . something."

I looked at her.

"I didn't think it was possible for me to feel this ever again, but . . . I love you."

"Who, me?"

"Well, there's no one else around, now, is there? Yes, you, dumbass."

"So, I guess it's fair to say, 'I love you, too?'"

Vasquez looked a little stunned. "You do?"

I nodded. "Yep."

She took a moment to think about that. "Not like we can make anything out of it. We're never going to get out of here." She pitched a rock toward the yard.

"True," I said, "but the important thing is that we love each other. We won't . . . get to do any of the things couples on the outside do, but we'll do what we can. I'd be a lot happier knowing somebody loves me, despite . . . everything that I did wrong. And, hey, if we were on the outside, I promise I would love you forever. I don't think any other woman in the world can give me what you have. You connected with me on a level I can't even begin to describe or understand, without even knowing it. That . . . matters so much more to me than how pretty you are. Let's be real, everyone in prison is ugly, because we're crappy people."

We couldn't get closer because there were guards watching us. They couldn't hear a word we said, but they could see us from the towers and windows. Some were more relaxed than others when it came to physical contact between inmates. I heard one say that he didn't care if people formed friendships, just as long as they weren't fucking behind the workshops. But, you never knew if it was somebody lax watching you, not unless they walked by.

So far, I've kept my promise to Vasquez about loving her forever. Now that we're out and on track to be released from the Marines at the end of our contract, we can do all the things regular couples do. Hell, we seem to be more stable than most civvie couples, judging by what I've heard and observed. Some people just don't know how to form a deeper bond with each other, like it's too much work or something.

Then again, it can take a lot just to get someone to dive into that. Would I have eventually become the person I am today if I didn't go to prison?

I know I've mentioned before that I constantly wonder about what would be different if I didn't royally screw up. The further down this path I go, however, the more I wonder if this was meant to happen. The more I wonder if this was meant to happen for everyone. Hudson. Wierzbowski. Hicks. Spunkmeyer. Ferro. Were we all meant to cross paths, to become friends.

I wouldn't have them if I was still in Pittsburgh. By now, I'd probably be working a crappy job and scraping by. Maybe living alone in a small apartment, putting up with neighbors who, for lack of a better term, might make me nervous because I'd be in such a bad area. I'd be very thin because I'd work overtime and just plain forget to eat, but people would assume I was an addict or something because I was in rough shape. I'd know it was going to take years to get myself out, to find out what I really, really want out of life.

Most likely, though, I'd become like my father and be stuck in a loop of depression. It's one thing to be depressed, but it's another to be depressed and completely alone, physically and emotionally. I wouldn't have learned to change because I had no one to show me how. For most, I was too much work.

But, yeah, the more I think about it, the more I understand that this was the better path for me.

When we returned to base, Hicks told Vasquez to go shower, and gestured for me to come into his and Apone's office. I was worried that I was in trouble.

Hicks closed the door, and had me sit. "You had mail today. Did you know that?" he asked.

I rarely check my mailbox because I'm not really in contact with anyone. "No, I didn't," I said.

"Well, I was going to give you your mail when you and Vasquez got back, but when I read the return address, I figured it be best to give it to you in private."

My stomach twisted. "Why?"

"Are you related to a 'Faylene Drake?'"

* * *

_Question: How has Drake's experience influenced the relationships of some of the people around him?_


	3. Chapter 3

I fell silent at first, struggling to process what I'd just heard. Hicks didn't say anything as I sat there, thinking, as I eventually said, "Faylene's my sister. Older sister."

Hicks nodded. "You don't have to read it if you don't want-"

"I'll read it," I said. "How the fuck did she . . . find me? I didn't put any kin on my papers in boot camp."

"Did you ever request a restraining order or something like that?" Apone asked.

"No."

"She can still contact you through the military. If she provided them with proper information to confirm you're biologically related, they have no reason not to let her send letters to you, unless you have a restraining order."

I nodded. "Well . . . I'll give her a chance. I dunno. Maybe things changed in five years."

The letter was basically a "Hi, how're you doing?" kind of thing. Nothing that would make me mad or overly excited to see her again. She was saying that she wanted to see me again, physically, so she gave me her phone number so I could say "yes" or "no" to her visiting me.

Well, I did say that I would take any opportunity that presented itself to me to talk to my father again. I would probably have to sweet-talk Faylene into arranging that and making sure everyone else was out of the picture-just me and Dad. Then again, I still don't know how much has changed. This good be a brilliant opportunity, or a waste of time.

But I wanted to seize this opportunity. God only knows when it might present itself again.

* * *

Staring down at the number on the paper, I patiently waited for my call to go through. I was nervous about talking to anyone in my family again. I didn't know if I was making the right decision. Everyone else was telling me that it was my decision, though, but my uncertainty was through the roof.

My heart was in my throat, and I could feel my stomach slowly start turning when I heard someone pick up on the other line, and a woman's voice say, "Hello?"

I swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Faylene? It's . . . It's Mark."

"Dear Jesus, Mark, is it really you?" She sounded happy.

"Yeah, it's me. I . . . got your letter, and I called to talk about . . . when we could meet."

"Sure. It's so good to hear your voice again, Mark. Thought the day would never come. You never wrote to us in prison."

I kept my thoughts to myself. "Well, I . . . I . . . um . . . y-you can come . . . down to Rio whenever it's most convenient for you. I . . . Th-There's places you can stay on base."

"Sounds good. Is everything OK, Mark? You're stuttering."

"I'm OK. Just . . . a-a little surprised that you decided to track me down after five years."

"I've been busy. Only now got the time to set my mind on trying to connect with you again."

"Alright, well . . . I look forward to seeing you again, I guess." I swallowed again. "Say 'hi' to Dad for me."

"OK. I'll see you in a few days, Mark. Bye."

"Yeah. Bye." I hung up the phone, and found myself unable to decipher the feeling knotting itself around the inside of my chest and belly. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad.

I left the phone room and headed down to Ranelli's office, hoping he could help me figure it out. As always, he let me in, had me sit and get comfortable, and poured a packet of white hot chocolate mix into a cup while the water heated.

I explained what happened regarding the letter and the phone call, and he listened. I finished it with, "I'm not disappointed, but I'm not excited about reconnecting with anybody, and it's . . . it feels like there's a series of knots in my chest and my stomach."

"That would be your anxiety. You're worried about how this interaction will go." Ranelli added hot water to the mug, and slid it in front of me. "How was your relationship with your sister before you went to prison?"

"Kinda dwindling. We were very close when we were little, and then she got involved with more and more activities, made friends easier than I ever could, and . . . started only going to me if she needed something. The last time I saw her was the day after my conviction, behind glass." I paused, feeling a surge in my stomach as I dug back into my memories. Memories I buried a long time ago. Sighing, I rubbed my face. "She was crying."

"Perhaps she realized that she should've spent more time with you."

"But why now? If she missed me so much, why didn't she try when I was first recruited?"

"Things happen. You did tell me that she told you she was busy. She has a life of her own. How old is she?"

"Twenty-five. Three years older than me."

"It's possible she might have children."

The squirming in my gut got worse. "So . . . I could have . . . an actual niece or nephew?"

"You could. However, if this interaction doesn't go as you hope it will, I think it would be better if you didn't know, if it's not brought up by her."

"Why?"

"Because I know how you feel about children. You took it upon yourself to care for Casey, and you became attached to him. You've told me several times how much you want to care for your own child. If you were to find out you have a niece or nephew, I know perfectly well that you would want to see them and be involved, but your sister might not allow that if this interaction goes poorly, and that would be devastating for you."

I nodded. "I guess that makes sense." I took a breath. "It's really tempting, though."

"I know, but for the sake of your mental health, don't ask."

* * *

You can imagine the looks on the guys' faces when I told them about what was going on. They all knew I had a sister; they just couldn't believe they were going to meet her.

"I thought you said you didn't want to deal with your family, man," Hudson said.

"Not really. The more I thought about it, the more I felt like my father would be the only person I think I could reconnect with," I replied. "Faylene might be the key to doing that, so . . . I need this meeting to go well."

"I think you need to be cautious," Wierzbowski said. "Trust me. My family 'tried' to make amends with me, and it ended up being more of the same bullshit of blaming me for my divorce."

"I wouldn't even let Kendriss talk to me if she tried." Spunkmeyer growled at the thought of his adoptive mother. "Or my biological mother, for that matter."

I looked up at Hudson. "What about you, buddy? Any horror stories about your family?"

"No. We still keep in touch, man." Hudson grinned. "I get a big pumpkin pie every Christmas from Ma."

"We've never seen you with any pie," Spunkmeyer snorted.

"That's because he eats it in one go," Wierzbowski replied.

"Well, if I don't hide it or eat it, I have to get rid of it, man," Hudson said. "Henley would've murdered me if he caught me with food. Hicks doesn't give a crap most of the time."

"But you'd still stuff your face rather than share with your best friend," I replied with a smirk.

Wierzbowski shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Drake, you're no better than he is when it comes to food sometimes. Except the part of your brain that tells you you're done actually still works."

"That, and I trust my therapist to hide my leftovers in his fridge."

Hudson gave me a look. "Would you be upset if the rest of us took advantage of that, man?"

"Yes. If everyone started doing it, we'd get in trouble, and who'd they pin it on? Me."

"Maybe you shouldn't have said anything, then, genius." Spunkmeyer stretched and yawned. "Alright, I'm gonna get some sleep. See yous in the morning."

"Good night, Spunkmeyer," Hudson said. "I'm going to sleep, too, man." He flopped on his bunk. "Good night, Drake."

"Good night, jackass," I said.

"I love you, too, man."

"Alright, go to sleep, you two," Wierzbowski sighed.

It was quiet for a minute or two, but Hudson and I developed a case of the giggles and burst out laughing for no reason. I think it was because we wanted a reaction out of Wierzbowski. Wierzbowski glared at us from under his blanket, but didn't say anything.

The next day was a bit of a bore. I didn't hear anything from Faylene.

Hudson had to get some new wires for the ab machine in the gym, and he decided to check the electronics in the other machines, just in case any were on the verge of breaking. He was busy pretty much all day.

I spent a few hours in the range with Wierzbowski. We loaded our weapons with blanks and practiced some maneuvers in the mock-up corridors. Nothing terribly exciting.

The gym was off-limits, so I grabbed a change of clothes and my swim trunks and headed to the pool, looking forward to some time alone. After changing, I slid into the shallow end of the pool, swimming leisurely around. I moved onto my back, floating a little, a sense of relaxation flooding through my body. _I can handle meeting up with my sister again. Just be calm, be nice, don't be a pain like you are with everyone else._

I looked down at myself, seeing how much paler the surgical scar under my chest was. I knew it wouldn't ever go away fully, but it would eventually get to a point where you'd have to really look to see it.

For a moment, I wondered if I should tell Faylene about my PTSD. Or perhaps she'd find out on her own, through me suddenly collapsing and screaming because I'm hearing things and feeling things that aren't actually there, but in my memories.

Given how my family didn't seem to understand what was actually going on with my father, maybe telling them about my PTSD wasn't a good idea. Now I'm just hoping my brain doesn't betray me while Faylene is visiting.

Seeing movement from the corner of my eye, I turned to see Ferro walking into the pool chamber. "Hey," I said.

"Hey, Drake," she replied, her voice echoing through the chamber.

"Care to join me?"

"That was my plan." Ferro grinned before climbing into the water. "You doing OK? Spunkmeyer told me about what happened yesterday."

"Yeah. Little nervous. Then again, when am I not nervous?"

Ferro nodded. "Good point. You have been getting better about that, though."

"I know, but I'm still a wreck."

"And again, you are getting better with that. Do you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you." I looked up at the ceiling, sighing. "You guys will all behave when she's here, right?"

"Yeah. What makes you think we won't?"

"I don't. I just . . . want this meeting to go as smooth as possible. Either I successfully reconnect or I don't. There's no in-between."

"Alright. I understand. We'll behave. We'll be pleasant. I'll make sure Spunkmeyer isn't telling dirty jokes every few minutes."

"How have you two been doing the last few days?"

"Good. Spunkmeyer's been doing better. He's more talkative, more thoughtful."

"Nice. Maybe he'll take you out to dinner when you get cleared."

"Dietrich said she'll give me another check tomorrow, then she'll decide."

There was silence for a few minutes. Ferro disappeared under the water to swim to the other side of the pool. As she did, I heard Hudson yelling, "Hey, man! I'm comin' in!"

A second later, he cannonballed into the deep end of the pool, and surfaced. "Water's warm, man!" he said, spitting to the side.

Ferro gave him a look. "It was nice and quiet until you showed up."

I laughed. "_Everything_ is nice and quiet until he shows up!"

"Hey, I make things fun, too, man," Hudson said.

"Sometimes. I thought you were working on the workout machines."

"Everything's good, man. I replaced the computer wiring in all the machines. Some of them were getting close to breaking, but, yeah, everything's patched up and replaced and no problems should come up for awhile."

"Are you saying I should take you out for that beer and dinner because you worked so hard today?"

"I didn't think of that, but, yeah, man."

"Fine. I'll take you out in a few days."

"Few days? Come on, man-"

"I've gone out twice in the last two days. Can't keep spending my money like this."

"Not even for your best friend, man?"

"I didn't say 'never,' OK? I'll take you somewhere in a few days."

"Alright, alright, man."

We sat and talked until Hicks ordered us out for afternoon chow. Before I could sit down at the table, Bishop told me I had a message from Faylene. As I thought, she messaged me to say that she had gotten a plane ticket and was heading to Rio in three days. The USCM was arranging for her to be picked up and sent to this base.

Letting out my breath, I rejoined the unit at the table. Again, I noticed Dietrich sitting next to Wierzbowski. She was whispering to him, he was nodding along. I couldn't hear what exactly they were saying to each other, though.

I let my mind wander, and I realized I never sealed up the path I had plowed yesterday to get to the memory of Faylene crying when I went to prison. It was a raw, open wound . . . and I could feel things I had suppressed come seeping out.

My chest heaved as I ran further and further into the woods. I don't know how far outside of Pittsburgh I had gotten, but I knew the car-the car I stole-was completely out of gas. I had no food and no water, and my dad's gun was in the passenger seat of the vehicle. It still had some ammunition in it, and I had none on me.

Tears and sweat ran down my face. Then I saw lights casting shadows of the trees around me. I glanced over my shoulder once, and I saw the dogs . . . I was not getting away from the dogs. I stopped. My hands were up . . .

"Drake? Drake!" Wierzbowski was shaking me.

"Don't spook him, man," Hudson said. He knelt by me, carefully lifting me back into a sitting position.

"Is he out of it?" Hicks asked.

A very long minute passed before I fully came around. Instinctively, I covered my face.

Hudson put his arm around my shoulders. "It's OK, Drake, it's OK, man," he whispered, hugging me.

"Take him down to Ranelli's office, Hudson," Hicks ordered.

Helping me stand, Hudson walked me down to sick bay. "Everything OK, man? You just . . . fell over and didn't respond. I mean, I know what happened, but-"

"It's my fault," I said. "I didn't . . . was . . . thought about . . ." I groaned.

Hudson squeezed my shoulder. "Relax, man. I won't ask again." When we got to sick bay, he knocked on Ranelli's door. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No. I'll be fine."

Hudson stayed until Ranelli opened the door, then he gave me one more squeeze on the shoulder before heading back to the mess hall.

Ranelli took me inside the office, studying the look on my face. He gave me all the time in the world to readjust my mind, and then sat across from me to listen.

I told him what I saw in my flashback (I just wrote it, so I'm not describing it again), and then I clenched my fists, holding them to my face. "I don't understand! Why am I having flashbacks to the night I was arrested when that's not what caused my post-traumatic stress?!"

"How do you know that's not what caused your post-traumatic stress?"

"Because I wasn't . . . I wasn't like this before the silver flower!"

"Think about this for a moment, Drake, what do you remember of the time between your arrest and the incident on the Gateway lab?"

"I don't want to think about it! That's why this happened! I dug back into my mind when you asked about my relationship with my sister, and I didn't re-bury it!" I covered my face. "I try not to remember it. I keep a select few memories, and that's it. Everything else . . . I don't want to."

Ranelli was quiet for a few minutes. "Drake, it's entirely possible you were suffering long before Gateway, and you dealt with it in in your own way, by suppressing it. You were placed in an environment where you had no one, and in order to survive, you closed yourself off almost completely. In doing so, you subconsciously shut away a good portion of your memories. You were convinced that you would live and die in prison. Your subconscious wasn't sure what to do with this when you were released to the military, but you were still scared, still in a fairly primitive mindset, so you continued to suppress the trauma related to your arrest."

Without looking up, I said, "That makes sense."

"The silver flower brought all that to the surface, and it lumped on a new trauma for you to deal with. It figuratively blew open your subconscious, letting this come back to the forefront of your mind. But, you were distracted with the trauma brought on by the silver flower. Now that you've been managing it somewhat successfully, we are approaching a time where we must manage the trauma related to your arrest. It'll be a little different compared to the silver flower, because you were not threatened with physical death. You lost your future, and your emotional wellbeing was severely stunted, and you know that it was your doing. You knew that things would never be the same now that you're a murderer, and you feel guilty. Taking this opportunity of joining the Marines to erase your sentence is your redemption, and so far, you haven't been a threat to anyone in the three years you've been here. Things have changed for the better for you, but you are your own worst enemy. You doubt yourself, you feel like you're a burden to others, and you feel like you will never get the life you want on the outside. That is what the flashbacks to your arrest symbolize."

"I'm sorry, sir, I still feel . . . lost. Are you saying that I've . . . I've had PTSD for a lot longer than I think?"

"It's possible. I can't diagnose that, not unless you gave me a detailed account of your life during the trial and prison. I'm basing everything off of what you told me. It is also possible that you relived the night of your arrest in the dreams you had while poisoned, and that's why you suffer flashbacks of it. I also know that you've suffered flashbacks of your arrest whenever something related to your pre-Gateway past comes up. Case in point, your sister."

I nodded. "So, this . . . will happen until . . . until this visit is over."

"Possibly. Do you plan on telling her about this?"

"About what? My PTSD?" I shook my head. "Unless she gives me a reason to feel comfortable, I won't say anything about it."

"Alright. That is entirely your decision."

"Yeah. I just don't know if I'm making any _good_ decisions."

"You never know until things play out. Make the best of what are in control of, and don't worry about what you aren't."

* * *

_Question: Is Drake's flashback a valid reason to potentially cancel his meeting with his sister?_


	4. Chapter 4

I knew the first step to managing my trauma was admitting it was there. I don't think I ever told myself that I didn't have nightmares about the night I was arrested. I guess the next step is telling myself that it's causing a bigger problem than I previously thought.

I also know I'm not completely done with everything relating to the silver flower. It still haunts me. Every day, every night. Without fail.

I just don't know if I can beat back two monsters at once.

At night, I struggled to fall asleep and stay asleep, even though I knew my body was exhausted.

I've had anxious fits before. They're a nightmare on their own, not only for me, but for the people around me, because it's a chore to get me to calm down. They happen for very little reason, most of the time, and there's a difference between the panic attacks I have when I'm out in public, and the ones that happen when I'm on base, or just in a location where I'm more comfortable.

I become locked in my own mind, and promptly shut down. They typically don't last longer than a few minutes, but it's a few minutes too long. Even if someone's there with me, it takes time for me to pull myself out of it.

As I tossed and turned, my heart pounding, I heard Hudson stirring in the bunk above, and then he climbed down. "Hey, man," he whispered. "Everything OK?"

I covered my face. "I can't . . . get to sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

"I don't know."

Hudson grabbed his pillows and knelt on them to make eye contact with me in the bunk. He rested his arms on the side of the rack. "Well, I'll stay up with you if you can't sleep, man."

"Thanks." I sighed. "I'm anxious, that's all. Feels like . . . I'm setting myself back."

"I don't think you've set yourself back, man. I've noticed a big change in you over the last few months. I mean, I know it's gonna take you awhile to see that for yourself, but . . . we all see it, and I hope you can see it soon, man."

I nodded a little. "I'm glad you all do. I just don't know what it's gonna take for me to see it."

"It'll happen when you least expect it, man." Hudson squeezed my shoulder. "I know it will. I think everyone else knows it, too."

"Well, like I said, I'm glad somebody sees it, because I don't."

Hudson was willing to stay with me until I felt like I was ready to fall asleep, which, surprisingly, didn't take long. In the morning, I choked down my breakfast, and then had to go down to the civilian family living quarters to have a small apartment set up for Faylene. I didn't really want to have a say in it, but I was somewhat obligated to because she's family.

All I really had to do was give the guys organizing it some information about Faylene, like whether or not she's single, has kids, stuff like that. As far as I know, she's coming by herself, so she was given an apartment meant for one person.

I once heard from guys in other units that when Marines bring family members for extended stays, it can be a nightmare. Most of the time, it's not an issue. Other times, it is, especially with those who have small children. Or those having marital problems. I remember Russell was hesitant at first about letting me take care of Casey, but afterwards, he told me that Casey was more behaved than any child younger than 13 he had dealt with in the past, based on the reports we sent him. Most young children have no clue what's going on around them, and sometimes, don't care. On bases, it's the law to keep them within civilian premises, because of all the dangerous equipment we have. They're cooped up, they get bored, they throw tantrums, whichever parent is with them tries to buy them things to keep them occupied. I've heard of some cases where the Marine is the sole proprietor, and occasionally can't afford to be giving too much money to the wife and kids because he has to send it overseas to pay the monthly mortgage and maintenance on the house. And that's typically when shit hits the fan and relationships fall apart.

Smart Marines don't bring their families in for more than a few days if they can help it. I've seen arguments about whether or not these civilian housing barracks should be eliminated, because they're costly, sometimes civvies are extremely rude to MPs and other Marines, and children can be problems. I've also heard stories of people taking advantage of the housing being completely paid for, and not taking care of their living space. As far as I know, the Marines only clean an apartment when it's not occupied. They expect occupants (if they're able to) to take care of it like it was their own. I could fill a couple books with stories I've heard from others about bums trashing apartments. I think one incident led to an outbreak of mold and fungus that resulted in the whole housing sector of a base to be locked down, and the cleanup was expensive.

Then again, I don't have to worry about any of that. I hope. Faylene had always been a neat and tidy person. If she wrecks the apartment, I could get in trouble because she's staying under my name. At least Russell and the majority of Command has been understanding toward me.

That process didn't take more than a half-hour. I spent the rest of the morning playing cards with Hudson and Spunkmeyer. Wierzbowski was in the comm room, talking to his girlfriend.

Ferro and Vasquez were on either side of me. Vasquez wasn't keen on displaying affection to me in front of people, while Ferro's arm was around my shoulder. She told Spunkmeyer that she'd sit with him if he won the game. And Hudson was loving his Oreos.

"Anyone thinking about going home for the holidays?" Ferro asked.

"I'd rather eat a whole fruitcake," I replied.

"I love fruitcake, man," Hudson chirped.

"You'll eat anything as long as your stomach is capable of actually digesting it," Spunkmeyer muttered.

"If Drake's not going anywhere, I'm not going anywhere," Vasquez said.

"Well, good," I said with a grin, "because I have plans for us, honey."

"Does it involve this?" Spunkmeyer stood up and began air-humping the table.

"If it involved what you just did, I'd be single right now."

"I guess our plans for Christmas are going to suck," Ferro said.

"Hey, I got plans too," Spunkmeyer replied. "Good plans."

"Humping the table does not sound like a good plan, man," Hudson snorted.

"Fuck you."

"You're supposed to fuck her, not me, man. I'd have to be real desperate if I wanted that for Christmas."

I burst into laughter. "I think we all would!"

"You're no prize, either, Drake," Spunkmeyer grumbled.

I untucked my shirt from my pants, and lifted it. "Oh, I think I'm a prize. I don't have Frost's abs, but I still look good. You've got a flat, hairy pillow on your belly or something."

Spunkmeyer glared at me, then looked at Ferro. "And what do you think?"

"I shouldn't say." Ferro smirked.

"You think I'm fat, too."

"I never said that. I think you're perfectly squishy."

"I'm not sure that helps."

"Miranda likes that I'm a little squishy, man," Hudson interjected.

"We know. You like belly rubs," I said.

Hudson flushed red with embarrassment. "You're not supposed to say that out loud, man."

"Never in a million years would I ever want my hands near his fucking belly," Vasquez muttered.

"Is his still more terrifying than Spunkmeyer's?" I asked.

"No. They're both unattractive and hairy."

"What about mine?"

"You make this funny moaning sound whenever I rub-"

"Alright, that's enough."

Poor Wierzbowski had walked in on _that_ conversation, and he made a grimace. "You all are . . . absolutely bonkers."

We looked at him, and resumed our game without another word. I knew for sure we can't be talking like this with Faylene around, because I really don't want her thinking we're a bunch of nuts. Then again, that might be inevitable.

* * *

I got more anxious when I realized I had less than 24 hours until Faylene was supposed to be here. I still felt like I was going to mess up in some way, shape, or form. But, I tried to remind myself that there are certain things I won't be able to control, so I just took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Remember how Hicks and Paulson's son are trying to get Paulson's widow to show them the general's will? Well, Vince gave me a call in the afternoon to give us an update; his mother agreed to show him and Hicks the will when the unit was in the States again.

"Sounds better than nothing," I said.

"You're right, it is better than nothing," Vince replied. "It . . . gives her time to prepare for it, if she doesn't try to hide it on us again."

"What's the point in hiding it? I still don't understand that."

"I don't, either. It's . . . I still think there's something in Dad's suicide note she doesn't want me and Dwayne to see. That's the only semi-logical reason I can think of."

"Yeah. Hicks has said before that your mother is a nice lady."

"She is. That's why I don't understand what happened." Vince rubbed his face, sighing. A moment later, he said, "How are you guys liking Rio? I've been in the area a couple times. Real pretty."

"So far, so good. I haven't gotten a chance to do much sightseeing," I replied. "You on a trip right now?"

"No, but a crew on a vessel approached me a couple days asking if I'd be willing to go out with them up to Baffin Island in the Canadian Arctic. They got a limited window to get some good fishing in before the ice gets bad. That's not a time you want your radar going down."

"Doesn't sound like it. Good luck and have fun. If you can."

"Listen, nothing is scarier than fishing in the Arctic in winter. Fun is rare up there."

"Well, just 'good luck,' then." I smirked.

Vince grinned as well. "I appreciate it, Drake. I wish you luck as well."

We disconnected, and I felt a sudden heaviness come over my chest. I knew damn well I was going to need a lot of luck tomorrow. More luck than I deserve. If I even deserve luck.

As the day wound down at its own pace, I continued to worry. I continued to fear that this meeting was going to go horribly wrong. That kind of fear was why I found myself on the verge of shutting down at various points in the afternoon.

The others seemed to know and understand that this was a hard decision for me to make, after hearing me say so many times that I didn't want to reconnect with my family. I think they knew that they needed to be on their best behavior, to help me get through this. And I believed they would.

I spent most of the night lost in my mind. When I went into the shower, I thought I was going to be alone, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Hudson came in after I had gotten into a stall, being his usual self. "Who else is in here, man?" he asked. "I hear water running."

I tried to come up with a smartass response, but then Hudson said, "Hey, Drake."

"How'd you know it was me?" I asked. "You're not peeking in the stalls, are you?"

"No, man. I recognize the smell of your body wash, and your towel. You always have the dark-blue one, man."

"Get in a stall and shower, Hudson, quit horsing around," Hicks ordered. "And put a towel around your waist."

The rest of the guys began filing in. I resumed thinking, knowing I couldn't mentally rehearse anything I wanted to say. I had to let this play out at its own pace, and I couldn't open up with anything that I really wanted to say. You know, the stuff about my father. I don't want to look like I'm just using Faylene to get to Dad.

A fruity scent suddenly filled the humid air of the showers, and then Hudson yelled, "What the hell, man?! Who just put ladies' shampoo on me?!"

Spunkmeyer was laughing. "I borrowed it from Ferro."

"Come on, man." Hudson was trying real hard to get the shampoo out of his hair, cursing all the way.

"Really, Spunkmeyer?" Hicks said. "That's really mature, buddy."

"Hey, I wasn't gonna use it," Spunkmeyer snorted. "Only smells good on Ferro."

Well, now I was paranoid that Spunkmeyer was going hold the bottle over my stall and squeeze girly shampoo on my head, so I kept glancing up until I was done with my shower.

* * *

Hudson still smelled like a rose (literally, and for once in his life) when we got settled into our bunks that night. He kept asking to borrow my cologne, and I kept saying no unless he wanted to buy me a new bottle.

"Are you feeling alright about tomorrow, Drake?" Wierzbowski climbed into his bunk, taking a book out from under his pillow.

"So far, yeah," I said. "Just . . . trying to tell myself that it'll be OK. I'll control what I can control. If things go wrong, it won't be my fault."

"Get some sleep, alright?" Wierzbowski smiled at me.

"Thanks." I closed my journal, and put it in a drawer on the side of my rack, before curling up under the blanket.

Hudson gave an obnoxiously loud yawn before flopping down on his pillow. Spunkmeyer crawled into his bunk, falling asleep almost instantly. A few minutes later, the lights turned out.

I tried meditating in a manner I've done before, by just focusing on how I feel in various parts of my body, and I started with my chest. My heart was beating at a steady rate. I could feel air rushing in and out of my lungs, uninterrupted, undisturbed.

When I'm trying to sleep, I really can't focus on my heartbeat for too long, because then I get nervous and it starts going faster and faster.

I sighed, dropping the meditation before moving back into my side. It took me awhile to fall asleep, and when I did, I can happily say it was dreamless.

I awoke flat on my belly with my face planted in the pillow. Hicks was telling everyone to get up. The guys were slowly but surely rolling out of bed. Hudson shook me, and when I didn't respond, he tried to hug me. The only response he got a was a good ol' fashioned grunt.

I knew that after breakfast, I was going to be driven to the airport to collect my sister. They usually have better food at the airport, so I stuck some money in my wallet before Hicks called me down to the gates. A van was waiting for us, and it started driving away before Hicks and I could get our seatbelts on.

I don't think the driver was happy about picking up a civvie. I guess he heard all the stories, too.

When we arrived at the airport, I almost let out a string of cuss words when Hicks said that Faylene's flight was supposed to arrive in two hours. I didn't want to sit around for two hours, and I let him know that. Not wanting a temper tantrum out of me, Hicks told me to just wander around, but be at the gate before the scheduled arrival time, or whenever he radioed me.

So that's what I did; walk around aimlessly. Somewhat aimlessly. I first wanted a better breakfast, and I really didn't give two shits about whether it was fast food or the fancy café. I settled on a sandwich made from some kind of maple cake, eggs, and bacon-well, it was a two-for-one deal and I ended up getting the same sandwich, but with sausage instead of bacon.

Hey, if I have to sit here for two hours, I may as well treat myself. And make Hudson jealous in the process.

I also got a hot cup of coffee to nurse while walking around the airport mall. Most of the stuff in the little shops is really, really cheap, so a part of me was wondering if I should just do some early Christmas shopping.

Here's the thing; cheap doesn't always mean good quality. That's why I prefer to go out to a regular store to get stuff like soap and toothbrushes, rather than go to the base PX. If I was going to get gifts, I had to make sure they were decent. And didn't rot on me in three months (I'll tell you the story about the rotten toothbrush another time).

I didn't find much. Well, scratch that, I didn't find anything. There was a Manhattan snowglobe that I thought Spunkmeyer might like, but I ended up putting it back because he was probably just going to be a smartass about it. I'll leave it to Ferro to get Spunkmeyer his New York novelties.

There was also a shop with oversized candy bars. You know Hudson would love those, but those are not easy to hide. I don't think they'd fit in the tiny fridge Ranelli keeps in his office.

I couldn't find anything for Wierzbowski or any of the other guys, or Ferro or Vasquez. I already did something "sweet and sexy" for Vasquez last year, so I needed to do something different.

I headed back to the gate when I saw a plane slowly pulling in through a window. Hicks seemed mildly impressed that I actually returned without him needing to call me over the radio.

Oh, boy, was I nervous. I'm just glad I went to the bathroom before coming back. I took a deep breath, and felt Hicks squeeze my shoulder.

I thought this blonde woman coming off the plane looked familiar, but I didn't know it was Faylene until she looked right back at me. "Mark?"

"Yeah," I said.

She walked over to me, looking me up and down. "Wow, you're . . . you . . . look healthy."

"And you look nice, too."

"I still can't believe it's you. And you're free."

"Not . . . yet. I'm on six years of service, and then they'll decide if I'm OK to become a civilian again."

"And how many years have you got left?"

"Three."

"Good. You'll come right home, correct?"

"Haven't . . . decided yet."

Hicks sighed. "Alright, let's keep talking when we get back to base. Hopefully, Hudson hasn't shoved his arm in the vending machine again."

* * *

_Question: How do you think Drake's response to this initial meeting would be different if it had been done much earlier in the series?_


	5. Chapter 5

Faylene asked all the pretty basic questions as we rode back to base. Things like, "So what are you doing in the Marines?" or "Have you traveled a lot?"

You know, nothing too surprising or unusual.

I did my best to explain everything without going into too much detail, and I definitely still didn't feel like telling her about my PTSD.

I was given some time alone with her after escorting her down to the civvie apartments, and I really hoped she didn't see my heart pounding against my chest through my shirt.

Or feel it.

When the door shut, she grabbed me in a hug. A very long hug, I might add. I could tell she was happy just to see me again after five years.

Somehow, I didn't know how I felt about it. A part of me wanted to welcome it. Another part of me just wasn't sure.

I ended up hugging her back, knowing an action like this would probably make things better.

"You know it's hard telling people my little brother was in jail," she said.

"I find it hard telling people I was in jail," I replied.

"Yeah. Most of the time, I just say you're . . . away."

"Well, now you can say I'm in the Marines. Don't even have to bring up the prison thing if you don't have to."

"That's the problem. Everyone knows."

"I kinda figured that." I let go of her. "It's . . . one reason why I don't want to go back to Pittsburgh when I get released."

Faylene was quiet for a moment. "Where would you go, then?"

I figured it was an innocent enough question. "Well . . . Washington. I'm going to Washington."

"You mean, Washington State, or D.C.?"

"D.C. I've even . . . got a place already set up."

"Mark, we can't all travel down to see you, and you can't-"

"Look, I really don't want to sound . . . like an ass, but I really . . . I really don't want to see everyone anymore. That doesn't mean absolutely everyone. There's a couple of people I'd be OK . . . seeing again, and that'd be you, if you can respect my wishes . . . and . . . and Dad."

Faylene raised an eyebrow. "That's it? Just me and Dad?"

"Honest to God, yes. That is it. I'm really sorry. Just . . . nobody helped me when I was younger, and I'd rather not . . . deal with that again. I have a family now. I have people I care about, and people who care about me."

"Mark, no one can replace your real family."

"Well, I just did. The guys in this unit have done more to help me than anyone I'm genetically related to ever did."

"Help you with what?"

"With figuring out who I am and what I want out of life. No one else did that. Mom didn't. Dad . . . couldn't, because he was miserable and she was making him miserable-"

"She wanted what was best for both of us-"

"Dad's suffering from depression. Could you not see it, or at least see it when you grew up?"

"If he was, then he should've just gotten medication or something."

I sighed. "I'll drop the subject, then."

"Why? Because you know you're wrong, and ungrateful?"

"How am I ungrateful?"

"Mom did a lot for you. A lot more than Dad. And you're accusing her of making him-"

"If she did so much, then why did I feel the need to run away?"

"Because teenagers make braindead decisions all the time."

I didn't want to get trapped in this. I looked at my watch. "I have stuff to do. Maybe later, you can . . . come meet the guys."

* * *

I sat in the bleachers of the gymnasium with Wierzbowski, Hudson, and Frost, resting in between volleyball games. I explained to them what happened. "Maybe I said the wrong thing. I know it's true that Mom was not helping Dad in the slightest, but . . . I guess some people don't want to hear it."

"She probably had a better connection with your mother than you ever would," Wierzbowski said.

"Maybe. I also don't know why she thinks I should go back to Pittsburgh."

"You don't have to if you don't want to, man," Hudson replied. "You're a grown man who can make his own decisions."

I nodded.

"If she's giving you a hard time, why're you letting her stay?" Frost asked.

"I honestly don't know anymore. Maybe she'll change her mind. I'm definitely not telling her about my PTSD. Already heard her say that Dad should've just taken meds. She'd say the same thing to me."

"Don't let her beat on you, man," Hudson said. "If things get worse, you don't have to put up with her."

"This could be my one shot at talking to my father."

"Think about it," Wierzbowski cut in. "Is it worth it? Even if you get the chance to speak to your father, what will the rest of your family do?"

"Nothing if I can convince him to move away."

"Drake, I want you to think logically about this, and whether this is worth the pain you will go through. Plus, what if your father doesn't want to speak to you?"

I paused, actually thinking about that. Wierzbowski had a point.

"If you want to go ahead with this, by all means, do so. This is all up to you."

"And your therapist might have better ideas than us, man," Hudson added.

"I can't let Faylene see me with Ranelli."

"If you're that nervous, maybe it's not a good idea she stays here," Frost said. "Just saying."

I rubbed my face. "I feel stuck."

Hudson patted my shoulder. "It'll be OK, man. You'll get through this."

* * *

After evening chow, I went to see Faylene in her apartment. She had gotten something from one of the on-site diners, and had that on the table while watching TV. I braced myself for her to be upset with me, but then she said, "Mark, I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked.

"For . . . earlier."

"For arguing with me, or-"

"For arguing with you. That's it."

I sighed. "I really don't want to talk about Dad without us falling into an argument. At some point, I want to talk to him, in private. There's . . . just a lot of things I want to ask."

"If that's what you want. We can talk about that tomorrow." Faylene shut the TV off.

"OK. Did you still want to meet the others?"

"Yeah."

I hoped I was making the right decision, taking her to meet the guys. I walked her down to the lounge, where everyone was sitting around, playing games or watching pre-season American football.

"Hello, who's this?" Spunkmeyer asked, looking up when we walked in.

"This is my older sister, Faylene. Faylene, this is Daniel Spunkmeyer, our dropship crew chief and powerloader operator," I said.

"Nice to meet you. At least you're not ugly like your brother." Spunkmeyer laughed. "I'm just kidding! Have a seat."

"This is Colette Ferro, our dropship pilot." I gestured to Ferro. "Trevor Wierzbowski, our strong man, and my combat partner. Jenette Vasquez, our other smartgunner and my g-best friend." I swallowed, seeing Vasquez glare at me. "And . . . Will Hudson, our resident jackass."

"Combat tech, man," Hudson said, reaching out to shake Faylene's hand. "And also, I'm Drake's best friend."

"Tip Crowe, Vasquez's combat partner. Cynthia Dietrich, our medic . . . who is hiding on us again. Ricco Frost, our weapons expert. Dwayne Hicks, our squad corporal. And Apone's in his office." I sat between Faylene and Ferro. "We're a little nuts, but we're good people."

"Except for when Hudson farts in an unventilated room," Frost said. "Then, it's everyone for themselves."

"Hey, some of you don't exactly smell like roses, either, man," Hudson mumbled.

"You certainly did when Spunkmeyer poured my shampoo on you last night," Ferro snorted.

Hudson glared at Spunkmeyer. "I still need to beat on you for that, man."

"I wouldn't advise that," Ferro said.

"And why not, man?"

"Because Spunkmeyer bites."

I smirked. "Honestly, that was the best story to come out of you two getting shot down in the jungle. Spunkmeyer biting a bad guy."

"Yeah. They were rolling around on the ground and the guy was yelling, but no one could shoot. Spunkmeyer had jaws of steel in that moment-would not let go."

"Sounds like a bloody honey badger," Crowe said.

"Any type of badger, to be honest," Wierzbowski added. "I can remember, when I was younger, there was a sett in my backyard, and the badgers were incredibly friendly, almost like they were tame. Unless anything got close to the entrance of the den. There was a fox roaming around one summer, and it tried putting its head in the hole. Suddenly, it pulls out, and there's a badger with its jaws wrapped around the fox's muzzle!"

"Definitely sounds like something Spunk would do," Frost laughed.

"Next time someone gets in a barfight, put Spunkmeyer in," I said.

"Send in the badger, mates!" Wierzbowski gave Spunkmeyer a playful nudge.

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "Well, don't send me fighting until my ankle heals up. Just strip Hudson naked and send him running into the bar. That'll terrify everyone into leaving."

"We could do the same with you," Vasquez said. "You're just as ugly underneath."

"Is Mr. Ribcage over here any prettier?" Spunkmeyer gestured to me.

"Make fun of my ribs all you want. You clearly haven't seen Hicks shirtless," I snorted. "He's skinnier than me."

"Oh, I have. Hicks isn't a smartgunner, though. Smartgunners are supposed to be . . . bigger. Even Vasquez is in better shape than you."

"Mark was always skinny. Doesn't come as a surprise," Faylene said. "Probably because he was very picky and never ate what was put in front of him."

"He's still picky, man," Hudson replied. "I usually end up eating his dinner."

"You eat everyone's leftovers," Spunkmeyer muttered. "Even though Apone's told you not to."

"I don't eat all of it, man. Just the stuff I like."

The conversations were fairly mundane after that. No one did anything overly insane. I won't document it all, otherwise we'd be here all night.

Faylene didn't stay the whole time. She said something to me about how she was ready for bed, and I decided to be polite enough to escort her back to her apartment.

"So, what'd you think?" I asked.

"Of your friends? Well . . ." Faylene put her jacket on a hook. "Wild. That's the best way to describe them, I guess."

"Can't deny that," I said. "That wasn't the worst. Give them all a few drinks and they'll be ten times wilder than what you saw. We're raunchy, we're crude and rude, but they're the most loyal group of people you'll ever meet."

Faylene didn't look so sure. "You seemed happy." She tilted her head a little. "Also, you didn't tell me you have a girlfriend."

I gulped. "What?"

"Don't play dumb, Mark. You were sitting next to whatshername . . . the pilot, with your arm around her."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, grow up, we're past the age of cooties. You like her and she likes you. I could see it."

Oh, boy, what did I just get myself into?

* * *

When I went back to my room, I shut the door before snarling, "She thinks Ferro and I are a couple!"

"Wait, what?" Spunkmeyer lifted his head from his pillow.

"I'm not making this up."

"You still think having your sister stay here is a good idea?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I don't know anymore."

"Well, I think we are way past the handstand with your head in a bucket to know this was a terrible idea!"

"This isn't like the bucket handstand, man," Hudson said. "Drake wasn't flat-out drunk when he called his sister."

"Alright, what'd I say about bringing up the bucket handstand?" I sighed. "I would like to forget about that."

"I'm trying to say, you knew this was a bad idea, so why'd you do it?" Wierzbowski put his pillow over his head. "You need to listen to your gut instincts, Drake."

"I don't think his gut was working when he did the bucket handstand, man." Hudson laughed. "I mean, it was saying something, but it wasn't anything comprehensible."

Wierzbowski gave a groan of frustration. "Can you drop the bucket thing? That was a bad analogy. I'm trying to say-"

"We know what you're trying to say, big fella," Spunkmeyer said, not lifting his head from his pillow. "Drake shouldn't have brought his sister here because she's being a bitch."

"We're not quite in bitch territory," I said. "She just . . . hasn't had the time to get to know everyone."

"The problem here is that she thinks you're dating Ferro," Wierzbowski sighed. "You're actually dating Vasquez, but you can't say this because Vasquez doesn't want you to."

"We all know what would happen if someone who wasn't one of us asked Vasquez about her and Drake, man," Hudson said. "We'd wake up the next morning and there'd be a bloodstain on the wall."

"No doubt about that. I'd rather have Vasquez not kill anyone so we can both leave the Marines at the same time," I said. "Look, as far as I know, Faylene's only staying for three days. Anything can happen in three days, and I'm hoping 'anything' will be for the better."

I can hope all I want. Ranelli's told me that hope is more complicated than it seems. It can either be unbreakable, or extremely fragile. In this case, I think it was too fragile to go on. Either that, or it was my own anxiety that tore it to pieces.

I dreamt that Ferro and I were, well, you know, making love. I've had these dreams before. Ranelli doesn't follow the theories that such dreams mean I have repressed feelings for Ferro. He believes they're more connected to my anxiety than any sexual desires I might have, and his reasoning for when it happened the first time was that I could be afraid of Ferro wanting that kind of experience out of me.

Now that I know Ferro doesn't want that from me, those dreams have subsided, but they do come back on occasion. They're kinda like old cassette tapes my brain likes to watch when it gets bored at night, and the monster of my PTSD can't be woken up.

Tonight, I think it was just because Faylene accused me of dating Ferro. The dream started off similarly to dreams in the past-Ferro and I were alone, kissing, before she pinned me against the bed, untucking my shirt and taking my belt off. Then the pants came off.

Before things got busy, the door flew open. Faylene was holding a camera and shouting, "I knew it! You can't hide things from me, Mark!"

I woke up with a slight start, groaning and covering my face. I lay there for a minute before hearing Spunkmeyer say, "Nightmares?"

Oh, God, Spunkmeyer would chew my head off if I told him what I just dreamed about. I sighed, looking at him. "Not really, but . . . yeah. Odd, strange dreams that I don't like."

"Need someone to talk to?" Spunkmeyer asked.

I shook my head. "I'm alright. Little rattled, but alright."

"OK." Spunkmeyer adjusted himself under the blanket, and turned back to the wall. I saw his body relax, and heard him sigh as he returned to sleep.

I glanced up at Wierzbowski. He was still fast asleep. I watched him evenly breathe. Once in awhile, he shifted positions, moving from his side to his back.

Above me, I could hear Hudson snoring. I could tell from the way he was breathing that he was laying on his belly, and that was confirmed when I got up a few minutes later to use the bathroom.

The entire base was silent as I crossed the hall to the restroom. The showers were pitch-black, and the toilet stalls were only lit by dim, flickering panel lights above. It was creepy. Always has been. For me, they became more creepy after the incident on Gateway, because the room where the flowers were was very dark. Dark, aside from the flowers' dim glow.

Something was rising in my throat, and it was threatening to choke me. I could feel it crushing my lungs and squeezing my throat.

I couldn't breathe.

I stumbled backward, groping around until I grabbed the door handle of a stall. Slowly, I slumped to the floor, gasping. I wanted to scream, but something was preventing me from doing so . . .

The light above me flickered out completely. And I still couldn't scream. I still couldn't breathe. I was trapped in my mind, in a flashback, a nightmare.

I didn't know where I was, or what to do. I still wanted to scream, but I was so busy trying to gasp for breath that I couldn't.

I'm not entirely sure how much time had passed when the lights came back on in the bathroom. Probably hours, because I could hear people in the hallways. Had I fallen asleep?

I wasn't wondering for long. A second later, Hicks walked in. He looked like he was about to get angry, but then he knelt in front of me, examining my face. Sighing, he helped me stand, and walked me down to sick bay.

Ranelli didn't look even remotely surprised when Hicks told him that he found me slumped on the floor in the restroom. He simply continued pouring hot water into a bowl of instant oatmeal, and then started preparing a second bowl for me. After Hicks left, Ranelli gestured for me to sit on the couch and take a moment to breathe while he made breakfast.

It took a few minutes before I was able to put my thoughts together. "I don't know what happened. I got up to use the bathroom, I . . . I just looked into the dark showers, and suddenly I was . . . I-I couldn't breathe. I couldn't scream."

"Eat, and drink your coffee." Ranelli sat across from me. "I noticed you didn't come to your daily appointment yesterday."

I nodded. "We . . . picked up my sister from the airport."

"How has this visit been going?"

"I don't know. First, we . . . we had an argument about my father, then . . . after she met the others, she thinks I'm dating Ferro."

"You do display an amount of affection toward Ferro that people outside your group of friends would consider to be a sign you're in a romantic relationship with her, even though you're not. In the civilian world, that is a breeding ground for rumors and gossip."

"I can't tell Faylene about Vasquez. Vasquez would . . . w-we've sworn to secrecy."

"Does secrecy overtake your loyalty to her?"

"I don't know. I-I guess she doesn't want people asking about us or assuming things about us." I rubbed my face. "And . . . last night, I had another dream that Ferro and I were having sex. Only this time, Faylene barged in to say that she was right."

"You've had this dream . . . three times?"

I nodded. "Once after her first date with Spunkmeyer. The second time while she and Spunkmeyer were stranded in the jungle, and the third time was last night."

"Does Ferro know about these dreams?"

"No, sir."

"Alright. I think . . . it's time for you to tell her."

"Why?"

"It will completely clear the air between you two. Be honest with her about this. Perhaps she's been having the same dreams."

"They don't mean anything, though. Besides, this could ruin her relationship with Spunkmeyer."

"While I don't believe that these dreams you have a concealed desire for intercourse with her, I do believe that talking about these dreams will allow them to fade. That, and I think you need to talk to Vasquez about them."

"She'll kill me."

"I think she'd appreciate you being honest. And you absolutely need to tell her about what your sister said about you and Ferro."

I nodded a little. "I think I made a mistake letting Faylene visit. That's what . . . That's what Wierzbowski told me last night. I mean, he's right. Is getting in contact with my father worth all this?"

"That's a decision only you can come to."

"Well, I'm obviously not very good at making decisions. As a matter of fact, I suck at making decisions. Every day, it's one bad decision after another."

"I don't think so, Drake. If anything, you've been getting better at making less rash decisions."

"Doesn't feel like it. Just . . . I don't feel any improvements. None. Everyone else sees them. Why can't I?"

"It seems as though you proved to others that you can change before you proved it to yourself. The thing with post-traumatic stress is that depression accompanies it in the majority of cases. It's a heavy feeling, and I can see the effects it's had on you physically. You're not sleeping well. Your diet's been fairly poor. You look like you've lost more weight. And I know what you're thinking; 'Even if I change all that, I will still feel terrible.' In a way, you're right. Both the physical and mental aspects need to be handled. Some people choose the physical route because it's 'easier.' Instead of tackling the intricacies of what goes on in their mind, they suppress it with medication."

"I guess that's why you've never suggested putting me on anti-depressants."

"In your case, I don't think they'd help, because they won't answer any of your questions, or help you fulfill your goals. You need to be able to manage this on your own. You need to be able to think about your life on your own. I can't make all your decisions for you. Your friends can't make all your decisions for you. You need to make your own decisions, and accept them. You have reasoning, complex or not, for coming to those decisions. Deciding to let your sister see you again was not a bad one."

"How?"

"Well, why did you agree to see her?"

"Because she could be a way to talk to my father again."

"Did you anticipate these negative consequences?"

"A little bit. I . . . didn't know she'd assume Ferro and I are dating or that she'd get mad when I said my mother was making Dad miserable."

"You didn't know, therefore, you shouldn't fully blame yourself. I told you before that you are only in control of yourself when it comes to this meeting."

I nodded.

"Drake, the only thing I ask is that you don't make yourself a doormat for her. If that's what you feel you have to do to get in contact with your father, then it's not worth it. It's not worth setting back your progress."

* * *

_Question: Should Drake have considered the possibility of his sister assuming things about him and Ferro beforehand?_


	6. Chapter 6

Considering I really don't need to give Faylene any fuel for her assumption that I'm dating Ferro, it would be tough getting time alone to talk with Ferro.

It's not like Faylene is allowed to just roam around base. However, I didn't want to keep her cooped up in her apartment all day, so I'd be her escort in the lounge or someplace in the city, if she wanted.

My one shot would be that night. After the guys fell asleep, I got out of my bunk, and put on my boots and bathrobe, quietly going out into the hall. I opened the door to the girls' room to see they were all asleep as well. Dietrich was in a bunk by herself, curled up under her blanket and facing the wall. In the other bed, Ferro was on the top bunk. Photographs of her and Spunkmeyer plastered the wall and ceiling. Vasquez was in the bottom bunk, her bandana tied to one of the bars holding up the two beds.

As quietly as I could, I knelt to kiss Vasquez's cheek. Her eyes opened, and she glared at me. "Just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

I gave her a lopsided grin. "I love you," I whispered.

"What are you doing here, Drake?"

"Important business."

"Really? Go back to bed before Dietrich wakes up."

"No, seriously, I'm doing something important. I just wanted to say 'I love you' before I wake up Ferro."

"Then wake up Ferro, dumbass."

"OK." I kissed Vasquez again. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Drake."

I stood up to see Ferro was already awake and smiling at me. "Hi," I said.

Her smirk got wider. "Hi. What do you need me for, goofball?"

"I . . . need to speak to you in private."

"What for?"

"Well, I can't tell you now. I said 'in private.'"

Ferro got out of her bunk, sliding on her boots and putting on her robe before following me out into the hall. We went into the lounge, where we sat on the couch.

I took a breath, facing Ferro. "Alright, so . . . last night, when I brought Faylene here to meet you all, she . . . she thinks I'm dating you."

"To be honest, Drake, I think that's an assumption anyone who didn't know us could make. Does Vasquez know?"

"Not yet, but I already know she's going to tell me I can't tell my sister what's really going on."

"Ah."

"She'll still be really pissed, but . . . I already know what she's going to say. That's how well I know her." I sighed. "And, there's . . . another thing. I . . . I've been having some . . . strange dreams that I told my therapist about, and he said the best way to deal with them would be to tell you about them."

Ferro gave me a quizzical look.

I took another breath. "I . . . have been having dreams where we, meaning you and I . . . have sex."

Much to my surprise, Ferro didn't look shocked or angry. "Well, I guess I'm not crazy, then."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I've had those dreams, too."

"Before or after you did it with Spunkmeyer?"

"Both."

"Oh."

We sat in silence for a minute. I sighed before saying, "Are you afraid I have feelings for you?"

"I don't know."

"Are things going OK with you and Spunkmeyer?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we can agree these dreams are disturbing, right? We have partners we're happy with, so, I don't understand why we're having these dreams." I shrugged. "Maybe our brains are bored, I dunno."

"Maybe."

"For me, I think last night was because of what Faylene said to me. My subconscious latched onto that and . . . presented the worst-case scenario to me."

"What are you going to do about her?" Ferro asked.

"I don't know. I mean, we can't . . . not be around each other, because we work in close quarters. We have no choice. Plus, I don't think that'd be a good solution."

"You know you can't let her boss you around, Drake."

"I know, and . . . that's why I just . . . don't know if this was a good idea. Letting her visit. I thought . . . this would be a way to get in contact with my father, and it . . . it looks like that might not happen. This was a big mistake, and I should've seen it coming."

"I don't think this is something you can blame yourself for. You're going in with fairly good intentions, and if the rest of your family isn't going to help you, then that's their problem, not yours. If they're not going to be supportive of you, then find people who will support you."

"That would be you and everyone else in this unit. I'd wager Dietrich gives more of a shit about me than anyone I'm biologically related to. Hell, Faylene doesn't think you guys can replace my real family."

"Yeah, that's her problem."

"I guess what I'm trying to figure out is whether I should continue trying to get in contact with my father, or if it's already obvious that nothing good can come out of this. I mean, Faylene has assumed I'm dating you, I can't tell her about my PTSD, I can't tell her about Vasquez, I can't . . . I can't talk to her about anything."

"Well, Drake, what have you learned from the last year or so about trust? You can't trust her, so-"

"This goal is pointless."

"In a way, yeah. What do you think she'd want you to do in return for your dad's contact information?"

"Return to Pittsburgh. Make me invite everyone to Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or make me go to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And let everyone humiliate me."

"And do you want to go back to Pittsburgh, Drake?"

"No."

"There you go. Was that so hard?"

"I made it hard. I'm sorry."

"Oh, stop it. You tend to overthink things sometimes, and that's OK." Ferro poked my forehead. "So, what're you going to do tomorrow?"

"Tell Faylene to leave."

"No, you're going to give this one more shot. I can tell that getting back in contact with your father means a lot to you. Give it another go, and if . . . if you can't get anything out of this, then . . . it's time to say goodbye."

I nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"Alright. Now, what are we going to do about her assuming we're dating?"

"First things first, I have to tell Vasquez. Then, the three of us will sit down and scheme."

* * *

I realized that it was probably a good idea to include Hudson, Wierzbowski, and Spunkmeyer in on whatever plans we made. I told Ferro to get them all together while I talked to Vasquez. I got Vasquez alone in the armory, and she looked a little surprised that I hadn't given her my usual hug and kiss whenever we get a chance to be alone together.

"Well, I can tell right away something's wrong," Vasquez said.

"How so?" I asked.

"You didn't kiss me."

I shrugged. "Want me to kiss you?"

"After you tell me what's going on."

"OK." I took a deep breath. "A couple nights ago, Faylene told me that . . . she thinks Ferro and I are dating."

"Your sister is dumber than you, I've noticed. Strikes me as the ditzy type."

"No, she's not ditzy. Just . . . kinda ignorant of certain things. Hell, she had no idea what a fucking smartgun was until I explained it to her."

"Anyway, she saw you and Ferro snuggling together on the couch and takes that as a sign you're dating. Anyone would."

"Well, I can't tell her the truth! You've told me not to tell anyone-"

"And then you went and told Hudson, Ferro, Spunkmeyer, Wierzbowski-"

"Hudson and Wierzbowski are my best friends. Ferro had to know because she had a crush on me, and then Spunkmeyer found out because Ferro told him. And let's not forget that Delhoun, Miranda, and Wierzbowski's girlfriend know, too. And I told Vince."

Vasquez gave me a dirty look. "Alright, why can't you tell your sister?"

"Because I know she'd probably give you a hard time, and . . . I don't want to do that to you."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

"We're going to go discuss that right now on the beach."

The six of us headed to one of the beaches surrounding Rio not too long after Vasquez agreed to come. We found an isolated spot, and set up our umbrellas and blankets before going into these small huts to change into our swimwear. Given the time of year, I knew this might be one of the last times we'll be able to lay out on a beach before it gets colder.

Hudson tossed his shirt to the side before laying down on a towel. Vasquez rolled her eyes before sitting next to me.

"We get it," I said, smirking. "Hudson needs to keep his shirt on."

"Spunkmeyer, too," Vasquez whispered.

"We could talk about who's ugly all day long," Spunkmeyer said. "But, we're here to talk about something else, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry." I adjusted the way I sat, glancing at everyone. "So, we all know what happened a couple nights ago."

"Your sister thinks you and Ferro are dating," Spunkmeyer replied. "What more is there to know?"

"Nothing. I'm just making sure everyone knows, that's all."

"Alright. We all know."

Wierzbowski looked at us. "So, why did you bring us here, Drake? What exactly do you want us to do to help you?"

"I want us all to put our heads together and think of something," I said.

"If you're trying to get us to do something completely batshit insane, like with the powerloader and stealing Vince Paulson's information from Hicks's desk, I don't want to be a part of it." Wierzbowski pulled his book from his knapsack, and tried to ignore us.

"We're not doing anything batshit insane," I said. "At least, I hope we don't have to do anything batshit insane."

"Oh, here's an idea." Spunkmeyer looked at us. "Let's lock her in the linen closet with Hudson after he's eaten base-issue chili."

"We're just looking to make her stop tormenting Drake, not murder her with Hudson's toxic methane," Vasquez replied.

"Hey, I've been good about not gassing the bedroom, man," Hudson chirped.

"That's because they've kept pepper and other spicy things to a minimum. I'll bet yous that changes tonight," Spunkmeyer said.

"How about we have Faylene catch Drake and Vasquez making out, man?"

"Yeah, and make her think I'm an unfaithful bastard who's sleeping with every woman in this squad," I muttered.

"Except for Dietrich, because she hates you, man."

"She hates everyone." Spunkmeyer rolled his eyes. "Except 'Ski."

Wierzbowski looked at him. "I'm the only person who's given her a chance. Anyway, this isn't about Dietrich, and second, be nice to her, or I'll pull all the screws out of your bloody loader."

I could be crazy, but I thought I heard Spunkmeyer growl at him.

It was quiet for a few moments. There were a lot of gray clouds out on the ocean, and we watched them slowly get closer to land.

"What if you told her the truth?" Ferro asked.

Vasquez sighed. I switched my gaze between her and Ferro. "I don't know," I said. "It just . . . I don't know."

Hudson looked at Vasquez. "Would it really be that bad if Drake told his sister? I mean, you still hate me, and he told-"

"I don't hate you, Hudson," Vasquez said, not looking at him.

"OK, man. Wait, what?"

"I don't hate you, Hudson. I just . . . think you're annoying sometimes."

"Like everyone else on the face of the Earth," I added.

Wierzbowski sighed before putting a mark in his book and sitting up to face us. "Alright, here's my thoughts on this; Faylene really hasn't been here long enough to have a good picture on who we are. She's never been around military people in general. I say, we don't antagonize her. I feel like what we're doing is antagonizing her, and giving her more excuses to claim Drake has been making bad decisions."

"Hold on, there, big guy, you're the one who said Drake doing this was a bad idea," Spunkmeyer said.

"I know what I said, and it wasn't very smart of me. Believe me, I know that dealing with estranged family is . . . difficult, and I've tried making amends in the past. All that did was get me drinking again, because they failed to look at the whole picture of my divorce. I went right back to square one, and I . . . I really don't want to do that again, which is why I don't . . . don't want to go home when my contract ends. I'd rather stay in the States with Eliza." Wierzbowski looked down at the sand, deep in thought. "Anyway, Drake, if you want to make your relationship with your sister better, you need to let her in. I completely understand if it's hard. I'm not saying that you have to tell her about your PTSD, but you still need to . . . treat her like you want to trust her. That's how you will be the bigger person."

"So, I have to let my guard down," I said.

"Just a little. You know better than anyone what your limits are. Besides, if it doesn't work out, you have the right to tell her to go home, and you don't have to interact with your family ever again. If they try to force themselves back into your life, you can get help."

"Yeah. Based on what you've told us, man, it sounds like that was something your dad didn't think of. Getting help, I mean." Hudson gave me a sympathetic look. "At least Doc Ranelli's been that figure for you."

"Come to think of it," Wierzbowski said, "we really should do something to thank him. He hasn't just helped Drake."

"Yeah, he's helped the rest of us. He let me scream into a pillow and didn't say a damn thing." Spunkmeyer grinned.

"When was this?" Ferro raised an eyebrow.

"Back when we were having trouble deciding whether or not we wanted to sleep with each other. I was so frustrated that I needed to scream, so he handed me a pillow and said, 'Have at it.' After that, he gave me a cup of hot chocolate and some graham crackers and I felt better."

"He's a big tea aficionado," I said. "Maybe we can find those packs of teas from every country and give him that for Christmas."

"Has he ever said where he's from?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"He's got some photos of Virginia all over his office. I think he told me he was raised in rural Virginia, then moved to D.C. for his psychology major."

"Is he a baseball fan?"

"He's never said."

"Well, if he is, and his team ain't the Yankees, I can't help yous."

"You were a real pain-in-the-ass during the World Series last year, man," Hudson said, shaking his head and smiling. "I remember Hicks looked like he wanted to beat the shit outta you whenever New York got a home run and you were going nuts."

Spunkmeyer gave Hudson a dirty look. "Oh, and when was the last time the Minnesota Twins got in the World Series? They haven't come close to the championship in decades."

"Honestly, the best part about last year's World Series was seeing Spunkmeyer try to get away with wearing themed flannel pajamas and painting the Yankees symbol on his chest," I laughed.

"It was fucking awesome," Ferro said, somewhat sarcastically.

"Hey, this year, I'll do it all over again, sweetheart." Spunkmeyer winked at her.

"So you want to sleep by yourself when we get to a base with our own bedrooms."

Spunkmeyer laughed. "You'll still sleep with me. I know you. You miss me."

"Does he describe sex as home runs?" I snorted.

"I think that's third base. But, it should be a home run."

Ferro socked Spunkmeyer in the arm.

"Like I said a few days ago," Wierzbowski said, not looking over at us. "You are all bonkers."

* * *

I kept Wierzbowski's words in mind (about carefully letting my guard down, not about how I'm bonkers) when we returned to base. At the same time, I realized I didn't tell Vasquez about the dreams I have about Ferro, and a part of me was scared.

But, I'd rather be honest with her.

As I still wasn't sure how to approach Faylene, I decided to take care of Vasquez first. We went to the weapons cleaning room, laying our smartguns on the racks before talking.

Vasquez wasn't looking at me at first while running a rag over her weapon, but then she looked right at me as I explained the dreams. For a brief moment, I was scared that I just ruined our relationship, but I kept telling myself that she has more sense than that.

"Remember what I told you about not letting the crazies have control of your head?" she asked.

"Yeah?" I said.

"I think that's what happened here."

"Really? You're not . . . upset?"

"Drake, it's a stupid dream. You don't think of her when we're getting busy together, do you?"

"No."

"Then I wouldn't worry about it. Your brain is constantly stressed all the time. You have weird and crazy dreams because of it." Vasquez gave me another look. "You do realize it would take a lot more than you having strange dreams for me to be mad at you, right?"

I nodded.

She set the cleaning supplies down and rinsed her hands before walking over to give me a hug. "I do worry about you. All the time. Especially ever since you let your sister visit."

I hugged her back. "I worry about me, too."

It was nice to just stand there in silence, holding each other. I wished it could last forever, especially when she tightened her grip on me.

"I love you," I whispered. "I know I'm going really slow with recovering, but . . . I'm really trying, I promise."

"I know," Vasquez whispered back. "I don't think I've told you I'm proud of you, so . . . I'm proud of you."

I kissed the top of her head. "Three more years. Three more years, and we'll be on our own. We'll get married. We'll have a kid."

"Slow down, Drake, I'm not quite ready to think about that."

"I will take good care of you every single day for all nine months, and that's a promise."

She sighed. "Thanks, Drake. Can you also promise not to become unbearably fussy?"

I grinned. "I don't think I can promise that."

"Well, you have a few years to think about that."

* * *

_Question: How has Drake's willingness to accept advice changed throughout the series?_


	7. Chapter 7

I ended up not going to talk to Faylene right away after my conversation with Vasquez. I went to the lounge to get something to eat, and fell asleep on one of the fluffy beanbag chairs in front of the TV.

I really don't sleep light during a simple nap. My personal guess is that I have such bad sleep at night that I'll end up going into a deep sleep anywhere, even if I lay down for "just a nap." The guys found that out when they caught me sleeping in the lounge back in D.C. and couldn't rouse me, so they kinda fooled around with me. You know, they lifted me up, propped me on the couch, put things on my head, in my mouth, and I still wouldn't wake up. I mean, I woke up eventually-with my head on Hudson's shoulder.

But, yeah, long story short, I don't doze. I straight-up sleep. The downside to falling asleep wherever I damn well please is that people observe me twitching and making jerky movements. Apparently, I make sounds when I'm really comfortable. Hudson was the one who told me I "purr" in my sleep. I didn't believe him at first, but then the others agreed with him (which is pretty rare) and it was embarrassing for a little while. And then I stopped caring and resumed sleeping in the lounge if I feel like it.

And I'm rambling again.

Anyway, I took my nap in the lounge and remained there until Hudson came in and shook me awake for dinner.

While sitting at the table, I figured I would talk to Faylene afterwards. It can't be that hard.

Maybe I'm hoping a little too much.

I picked at my food. _I should get this done now, rather than later. _I looked at Hicks. "Can I . . . I need to go do something personal."

Hicks glanced at Apone, who nodded. "Sure, go ahead," Hicks replied.

I stood up, walking down to the civilian apartments. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on Faylene's door, looking down at the floor. When she opened up, I made eye contact with her. "Hey. D-Do you have a minute?"

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I . . . came to apologize," I said. "I'm sorry for being . . . a bit of a dick the last couple days. I don't think that's what you came here to deal with."

Faylene was quiet for a minute, then she nodded. "OK. I accept your apology."

"Thanks. That . . . That means a lot to me. Let's get a fresh start here." I took another breath. "How about we talk over dinner, tomorrow night? We'll go someplace by the beach, and just talk."

"Sure." Faylene thought for a moment. "I guess, I should apologize as well, for . . . coming on a little too strong about you and your girlfriend. I think . . . maybe you should've told me yourself."

I opened my mouth to argue, say that Ferro wasn't my girlfriend, but I reminded myself that my goal here was not to antagonize her.

So, like with Miranda last year, I decided to play along. I'm a reasonably good actor. Hell, Miranda was convinced I was in love with her.

"And I accept your apology," I said.

"Thank you. Maybe she'd like to come along with us."

"I'll ask. I'll take care of the passes tomorrow morning, and then . . . then we'll take it from there."

Faylene nodded. "Alright. Good-night, Mark."

* * *

"How'd it go, man?" Hudson asked when I walked into the showers.

"It was OK," I said. "I have to take Ferro with me when we go out to dinner tomorrow."

Hudson frowned.

"I decided to just let her think Ferro and I are dating. I'm doing what Wierzbowski said; I'm not antagonizing her. I think I'll get more done if I just let this go. She'll be gone in a couple of days anyway, and we'll never have to worry about this again."

"You think this is gonna get you in contact with your dad?"

"If it's what I have to do."

"Drake, you did this with Miranda when I was in Hornby's lab, and Vasquez was kinda pissed, man. You can't do this every time you want something and the only way you're gonna get it is by kissing another girl. It's wrong, man."

"Well, the plan's have already been made. Besides, Ferro knows what's going on. We'll both be acting."

"What about Spunkmeyer, man? He's just as scary as Vasquez when he's mad. You can't just do this without telling him."

"I'll tell him. Relax."

Spunkmeyer was just coming into the bathroom with Frost and Crowe trailing him. Their faces were all covered with grease, probably from the powerloader, and Spunkmeyer had a bandage around his finger that I would later learn was from putting it a little too close to the welder. What they were doing, I don't know. Probably some repairs to the loader.

I wrapped a towel around my waist before closing my locker and facing Spunkmeyer. "Hey, can I talk to you about something for a minute?"

"Sure," Spunkmeyer said, throwing about his locker and peeling his sweaty uniform off. "What?"

"I'm taking my sister out for dinner tomorrow so we can talk. She wants my 'girlfriend,' Ferro, with us. I had no choice, I have to just play along with her."

Right then and there, I heard that growling deep in Spunkmeyer's throat. He gave me a dirty look, and I was actually concerned he was going to rip my head off or something else just as gruesome.

"Trust me, I don't want to do this anymore than you do," I said.

The look on his face didn't change.

"Spunk, quit growling at him," Frost said from his locker.

Spunkmeyer maintained eye contact with me. "You know what? I didn't have my father in my life, and I don't think it'd be right for me to be the reason you can't contact yours." His gaze softened. "You can take Ferro with you, but if I hear you were mouth-to-mouth kissing, there's going to be a lot of hell to pay."

"There will be no mouth-to-mouth kissing," I said. "You have my word as your friend."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Spunkmeyer backed off. "Alright. Breaking a promise is a serious offense in my book, and you will pay, dearly, if you stick your tongue down-"

"I get it. Seriously, Spunkmeyer, we've known each other for years, and I'm pretty sure Ferro will understand."

Shaking his head, Spunkmeyer walked away.

I had a feeling that this wasn't exactly helping him. I felt awful, but I could not think of anything that could make him feel better.

* * *

It wasn't hard to see that this was taking a toll on Spunkmeyer. A very fast toll, I might add. He refused to talk to anyone at all when he left the showers. He went to bed early, and didn't talk to anyone this morning, not even Ferro, which, as you might guess, made her a bit concerned.

After breakfast, Ferro and I ran into each other while looking for each other. "Do you have any idea what's going on with Spunkmeyer?" she asked.

"That's just what I was going to tell you," I said. "I told Faylene I'd take her to dinner so we can talk, and she wants me to bring you along."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I figured it was better I play along. I had to tell Spunkmeyer, though. He . . . gave me the OK, but . . . he's obviously not happy about it."

Ferro sighed. "So that's why he suddenly stopped talking to everyone."

"Trust me, I feel horrible about this."

"Then why are you doing it? Does getting information about your father matter more than your friends? The people who've actually been there for you? The people who have done a hell of a lot more for you than your family's ever done?" Ferro gave me a sad look. "Drake, I know 'Ski told you your best method was not to antagonize your sister, but not at _our_ expense!"

I didn't know what to say. "This really has been one bad decision after another, hasn't it?"

Ferro's gaze softened. "Sweetie, no. No, please, don't blame yourself."

"Well, who's the one making all these decisions? Not you. Not Hudson. Not Spunkmeyer. Not Wierzbowski. _Me._"

"Drake, please, listen to me." Ferro grabbed my arms. "Please."

I fell silent, my eyes locked on hers.

"I shouldn't have said any of that. I really shouldn't have. It . . . I-I know you want better relations with your family, and I know you've been trying to appease both us and them and I can't imagine how much that's been hurting you. It's not your fault you want everyone around you to be satisfied." Tears began to sparkle in her eyes. "And if we all love you, then we'll let you do what you feel is best for you."

"I know. I just . . . I shouldn't be hurting one of you in the process."

"Look, I'll try to talk to Spunkmeyer. You, just worry about tonight. I'll go with you."

"Thanks. Now, I have to tell Vasquez. I don't think she'll be any happier than Spunkmeyer is right now."

I got Vasquez to meet me down on the firing range. She felt it'd be a waste to be on the range and not shoot anything, so we loaded our handguns and took some shots at targets set up downrange.

I'll be honest, I was a little nervous about making her upset, especially since she had a loaded gun in hand, and she's a good shot.

"Even after what they did to you in training, you still use your left hand?" Vasquez noticed me shooting left-handed from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," I said. "Comes more naturally. It's just the smartgun I can't use left-handed."

A little story-time; when I joined smartgun training, I had a hard time adapting to the fact that a smartgun cannot be used easily by a southpaw. You might think that if I just train my right hand, everything will be good, right?

Wrong. It wasn't just my right hand. My right eye had be trained as well, and that almost set me back. The thing with shooting is that your dominant eye has the more accurate sight on the target. The headset smartgunners wear is for the right eye only, and I was getting really disoriented while using it. I couldn't shoot straight, even when it looked like I was on the target.

My instructor knew that I was coming from the prison program, so he told me that I had three options-train my eye, find a different job in the Marines, or go back to jail.

I definitely didn't want to go back to jail, and I also didn't want to leave Vasquez, so I elected to train my eye.

The instructor made me wear a black patch over my left eye to force my brain to rely more on my right. Without a doubt, it was really humiliating, but I was desperate to stay in, and stay with Vasquez. I didn't have a choice but to deal with it.

I had to wear the patch twenty-four-seven, but I could still eat and write left-handed. Some instructors felt that letting me do simple tasks left-handed would severely slow down the process of training my brain, but that was let go when I finally proved that I could indeed handle a smartgun.

Frankly, I don't know the exact science of it, but I guess I'm still hardwired to rely on my left hand for everything except shooting a smartgun. Other guns I shoot left-handed, no problem. But, yeah, if I ever injure my left hand, I'm screwed in terms of eating and writing.

Anyway, after Vasquez and I talked a little about our pasts and the hell I went through in training, I told her about what Faylene said last night.

She gave a heavy sigh before emptying her magazine into the target. I flinched a little.

"Why are you letting her do this to you?" she asked.

"You know, Ferro kinda said the same thing," I said. "I . . . I don't know anymore. This'll be over in a couple of days, and then things will go back to the way they were."

"Drake, you're kowtowing to her, and you can't do that. Has she done anything for you in return?"

"No."

"Then you need to tell her off. I know you've got balls. All she's done is antagonize you, and she is setting you up to be easily manipulated."

"I'm not going to be easily manipulated," I said. "I know when to tell her off."

"And what if what you're doing tonight doesn't get you closer to talking to your father? What if all she's going to do is push you further and further away from us, until you're finally dragged back to Pittsburgh, where all you have is the Goddamn drama?"

"I know when to tell her off." I felt a sense of frustration rise in my chest. "I'm not stupid, honey."

"I never said you were. Sometimes, you let your goals blind you, and I'm trying to help you-"

"No. I'm tired of being pulled in so many different directions! I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore!" I flicked the safety back on my gun, dropped the magazine, and stormed back into the armory to put the gun away. I didn't go back out to Vasquez.

* * *

I didn't want to talk to anyone about this anymore. Not even Ranelli. I just wanted to get this done and over with.

I had a fit while getting my jacket out from my bunk. For some reason, my mind turned to how frustrating it was folding the jacket the way the instructors wanted it in boot camp. It just wouldn't fold, no matter how many times I tried . . . just like how no matter what I do, no one is happy with my decisions.

"It's just so stupid," I muttered to myself. "Nothing . . . works." I yanked the ties off my jacket, watching it unfold with a flop on the ground. That's not supposed to happen. It's supposed to stay folded unless you shake it a little. I've been folding it wrong since graduation.

I kept muttering and cursing to myself. I didn't hear Wierzbowski walk in behind me until he said, "Drake? Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine!" I growled through grit teeth.

"Doesn't sound like it."

"No, it's not! And this is all your fault!"

Wierzbowski frowned, then pointed to himself.

"Yeah, you! You and your stupid 'don't antagonize her and you'll get what you want!' Now look! Going on a fake date with Ferro, pissing off both Spunkmeyer and Vasquez simultaneously, all so I can talk to someone who may not even want to talk to me!"

"Drake, you don't have to do this if you don't want to-"

"What's the right thing to do anymore?!"

Wierzbowski thought for a moment, then turned to his rack. "All I did was give you advice, Drake."

I really felt like exploding inside, but I forced it all in. I didn't know what to do. Throwing on my jacket, I went to get Ferro. I was still buttoning the jacket when I peered into the ladies' bedroom. "You ready?" I asked.

"Yeah," Ferro said.

I noticed Dietrich studying my face as she lay in her bunk with a book. She looked away when I switched my gaze to her.

Ferro jammed her wallet in her pocket before following me out into the hall. "I did talk to Spunkmeyer, by the way," she whispered. "He's still not happy."

"Not surprising," I muttered. "This'll be over before we know it."

"Drake, is everything OK?"

"No. Everything is not OK."

"Do you want to call this off?"

"No. I committed to this. Just . . . let's get it done."

Ferro bit her lip, clearly wanting to say something, but she decided against it.

After picking up Faylene, we took a short ferry trip to the mainland. The ride was quiet for the most part, which made it a little awkward. When we got off the boat, we headed down a long pier toward the city, and it was Faylene who initiated the conversation.

"So, Mark, how long have you been going out?" Faylene flashed me a smile. "You two are super cute, by the way."

"Um . . ." I looked at Ferro, "About . . . a year."

"Yeah, about a year," Ferro replied. "It'll be a year in October."

She was referencing when she had a crush on me last year. I found that clever.

"Is it OK for you to be dating in the Marines, or is this a super-secret thing I can't tell anyone about?" Faylene asked.

"It's OK," I said. "You just can't talk about having sex on base in front of your superiors."

Faylene raised an eyebrow. "And have you two-"

"No."

"Hang on, you've been going out for a year, and you haven't had sex?"

"It's more of an emotional relationship. We hug, we kiss, we cuddle. We're just not . . . We're not ready for sex yet." I shrugged. "Is that a problem?"

"No. It's just . . . I would never have expected that from you, Mark. Especially after how you were in high school."

Ferro felt me tense up a little, and gently squeezed my arm.

"I've changed a lot since high school," I said, acknowledging Ferro's attempt to keep me steady. "Prison will do that to you."

Ferro and I sat next to each other in the restaurant, with Faylene across from us. Again, there was an awkward silence, until I said, "So . . . what's going on with you?"

"Not much," Faylene replied. "Broke up with my boyfriend last year. Changed jobs again. Well, just my job in the grocery store. I went from packing bags to wrapping sandwiches in the deli, and it's really not that different, because the same brats you get at the checkout line often go right to the deli afterward."

"Sorry to hear that."

"No, it's fine. You get used to people's verbal abuse after awhile." She looked at Ferro. "What's your story?"

Ferro glanced at me. "Well, I'm from a small town in Michigan, right in the heart of the lower peninsula. I joined the Marines right out of high school because we lived close to a base and you'd see the planes and dropships taking off almost every single day. What really solidified it was when a recruiter showed us a promotional video in school. I knew right then and there that flying was what I wanted to do."

"And you didn't just go to flight school for civvie aircraft?"

"No. I wanted to have some adventure in life, and the Marines guaranteed that. I wanted to leave home. Besides, if I stayed home, I wouldn't have met this wonderful man here." Ferro patted my shoulder.

"Well, he's certainly more wonderful than some of the other guys you're working with. Your friend, whatshisname . . . Hudson?" Faylene made a face. "Does he always eat like a pig?"

"Yes," I said. "He eats what we don't want, so we call him the living garbage disposal."

"He's absolutely disgusting, and loud, and rude. Not like your other pilot, though."

"Spunkmeyer?" I asked.

"Yeah. What on Earth is wrong with him?"

I frowned. "Nothing's . . . wrong with him."

"Have you gone blind and deaf, Mark? He's the kind of person we were taught to stay away from on city streets."

"How would you know? You haven't even talked to him."

"I wouldn't approach him if I saw him walking around Pittsburgh."

I snorted. "Well, he's from New York. You won't see him walking around Pittsburgh."

"Yeah, I can tell. How narrow-minded can a person get?"

_OK, this is getting ridiculous._ "Um, Spunkmeyer is a really good friend of mine, and Ferro's. Yes, he can be loud and obnoxious, and he will rip you a new one if you ever say Chicago-style pizza is better than New York-style, but he's the most loyal son-of-a-bitch I've ever had the pleasure of working with. And that goes for everyone in my unit."

"You really think these people are better than your own flesh and blood?" Faylene gave me a hard look.

"In my mind, they are my flesh and blood. They are the best brothers and sisters I ever could've asked for. Nothing's going to change my mind about that."

* * *

_Question: If this story was from Spunkmeyer's perspective, how do you think he actually views Drake's plan?_


	8. Chapter 8

In all honesty, I should've known right then and there that absolutely nothing was going to repair my relationship with my sister.

"Then I guess you're a lost cause, Mark," Faylene said. "You fell in with bad company, and there's no pulling you out. Fine. You're estranged from us."

"And that is fine by me!" I replied.

"This was a waste of my time. You sounded open over the phone, then I come all the way down here to find you're happy hanging out with pigs and slobs and scumbags. You don't even want to give us a second chance!"

"I did give you a second chance! And I'm hurting my own friends because of it! I shouldn't have to do that!"

"Then what do you want, Mark? Do you want them or your own relatives?"

"I want them! If you can't handle that, then go on your merry way! I don't need you!"

"Fine! Stay with them! This is what you want your children growing up around? Fine!" Faylene stood up. "And, just for your information, Dad's been gone five years. After you were sent to prison, he divorced Mom, and we never heard a Goddamn thing from him ever again. No, I don't know where he is."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"Because I was afraid you'd end the visit early if I told you, especially after you told me Dad was the only one you felt comfortable talking to."

"I wouldn't have ended the visit early. I'd rather have you be honest with me. You know, if you want to be what family should be, then . . . be honest with me." I sighed. "You can't lie and backstab like everyone else did. You're never going to be happy. You're never going to have a long-lasting relationship. Trust me when I say that putting effort into a relationship to last a lifetime will pay off more. You'll be happier."

"Oh, how would you know?"

"Because . . ." I took a breath. "Look, I'm not dating Ferro. I'm actually dating someone else in the squad, and she typically doesn't like telling people because we got used to hiding it in prison. I didn't know what to do, you weren't listening when I said Ferro and I weren't dating, so I panicked and decided to lie to you. I shouldn't have. It's wrong to you. It's wrong to my squad, and . . . Goddammit, I screwed up bad."

Faylene looked at the floor, folding her arms over her chest. "Not much of a surprise there, Mark."

I sighed. "I will give you a second chance if you give me and the rest of my unit a chance."

"I already gave you a second chance."

"So, this is it, then?"

Faylene kept looking at the floor, then looked back up at me. "You know what? I'll think about it. I won't get rid of your information just yet."

My chest hurt. "Stay one more day, and think. Please? I really . . . I-I know we've both screwed up, but I still want to make this work. Get to know the guys a little more and . . . see that they're not what you think they are."

"Alright. I'll stay one more day, but if we're just going to end up here again, then I'm getting the next plane to the States."

"Fair enough. One more shot."

"One more shot."

* * *

We returned to base, and, of course, everyone wanted to know what happened. I told the guys as we took our showers, and Hudson was the one who said, "I don't think it's a good idea you give her another chance, man. This whole thing has done enough damage already."

"I never thought I'd say this, but Hudson's right," Wierzbowski replied. "I don't think anything good will come out of this. She's lied to you, and she's insulted you, and us."

"I did tell her to give you all a chance," I said. "If she doesn't, she's going back to Pittsburgh."

"Look, man, you have no way of contacting your dad. There's no point in her sticking around anymore," Hudson said. "Why aren't you listening? Why are you letting her get away with this, man? She doesn't love you."

I didn't respond right away, even though, deep down, I knew Hudson was right. Why was I letting this go one for far longer than it needed to? All it was doing was tearing apart my relationships with the people who actually matter.

"Are you scared, man?"

Yes. Yes, I was scared. Somehow, I couldn't say it.

The conversation ended there, but the emotions didn't. When we were ordered to our rooms that night, I felt someone tap my shoulder before I knelt by my rack to get my journal, and turned around to see nothing but pure fury blazing in Spunkmeyer's eyes. He then punched me hard in the stomach.

I fell, the wind completely knocked out of me. Before I could regain my breath and react, Spunkmeyer was on top of me, hands wrapped around my throat.

You read that correctly. His hands were around my throat, and he was throttling me, all while squeezing the air from me.

Any other person would be fighting back. Me? I was struggling, but my mind was focused on the sensation of my throat closing up.

I couldn't breathe. I can remember he was yelling at me about how I was too spineless to tell the truth, that I was an absolute bastard for pretending to go out with his girlfriend. I mean, he was right, but that didn't negate the fact that I was hearing the panicked voices of the doctors and feeling the defibrillators being slammed on my chest.

"_Get off of him!_" Wierzbowski grabbed Spunkmeyer by the shoulders and tore him from me. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

"He took advantage of all of us for his loser of a sister!" Spunkmeyer hollered. "And he decided to just take Ferro from me!"

"That does not give you the right to choke him!"

"Hey, what's going on, man?" Hudson appeared in the doorway. "Drake?"

I was lying frozen on my back, lost in my flashback. Pain was still surging throughout my torso from where Spunkmeyer punched me, and I could not regain my breath.

"We gotta get him to sick bay, man," Hudson said. "He's turning red."

"You do that. I'll wake up Dietrich." Wierzbowski left the room.

All Dietrich could really do was have me sit comfortably and breathe through an oxygen mask. She did check my abdomen for wounds, and only found a sizable bruise below my incision scar. The whole time, Wierzbowski was telling her what happened.

"Truthfully, I can't blame Spunkmeyer for being upset. I just don't think this was the solution," Wierzbowski concluded.

"I don't think this is even Drake's fault," Dietrich replied.

I gave Dietrich a confused look. She never sides with me. On anything.

"You don't?" Wierzbowski looked just as confused as I did.

"No." Dietrich dropped eye contact with him, looking as if she wanted to busy herself.

"Then, whose fault is it?"

Dietrich looked at me, then Wierzbowski. "Well . . . based on what I've observed . . . it's his sister's fault."

"You weren't even there when she met us in the lounge."

"No, but I did peek in to watch, and I didn't get a good feeling from her. Why? I don't know."

"Well, I wouldn't say you're wrong."

"I was afraid _he_ would think I'm crazy." Dietrich pointed to me.

Wierzbowski smiled a little. "I don't think he would."

Dietrich looked at me. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

I shook my head. As I continued to relax, I pulled the mask away from my face. "I know we've had our differences, Dietrich, but . . . I'll trust you over Faylene at this point."

Dietrich dropped eye contact again. She looked unsure of what to say. "Are you feeling better, Drake?

"Yeah," I said.

"Go back to bed."

"What are we doing about Spunkmeyer?" Wierzbowski asked.

"That's Hicks's job. Not mine."

* * *

I can imagine Hicks was as tired of hearing all the drama about my sister as the rest of the unit, and the fact that it resulted in one of his Marines getting into a fight with another added to his frustration.

Despite the fact that everyone was in their PJs, Hicks made everyone go down to one of the classrooms. As funny as the image is of Hicks wearing a bathrobe with a lit cigarette, his anger was not so funny. I think some of us were afraid he was going to descend into mania.

"I take it everyone here has an idea of what's been going on the last few days," Hicks said. When Hudson tore open a bag of cheese crackers, Hicks glared at him, and took the bag away. "When I'm talking, you're focusing on me, not your stomach."

"Sorry, man," Hudson mumbled, looking disappointed.

"Anyway, since no one has said anything, I'm going to assume you know what's going on. Never in my career as a Marine have I had to deal with someone's civvie relative causing this much trouble. This is fucking ridiculous."

"Is it really her, or is it Drake just making crap decisions here?" Spunkmeyer grumbled.

"He wouldn't be making 'crap decisions' if she wasn't intimidating him all the time," Wierzbowski said.

"That's enough," Hicks interrupted. "We all make bad decisions in life. It happens. That does not give anyone in this room the right to hurt each other. I am not saying anybody's feelings are invalid, but beating on each other isn't going to solve this." He closed the door. "No one is going to bed until we sort this out. I don't care if we go past lights-out."

There were groans of disapproval from some of the guys, including me.

"Really? That's the shit we're going to pull? Alright. We'll stay up till ten." Hicks put his cigarette in his mouth.

Spunkmeyer sighed. "Drake, I really don't appreciate you just taking Ferro to play up to your sister. And Ferro? I know you want to help Drake, but pretending to date him is a step too far. It didn't feel good, especially since I've put a lot of effort into us."

Hudson and Frost snorted, trying to cover their laughs. "Oh, he's put a lot of effort in, man!" Hudson giggled.

"Alright, grow up, you two," Hicks sighed.

Ferro was quiet for a moment. "You're right, Spunkmeyer."

"Now, kiss and make up, man," Hudson whispered.

"Hudson, shut it," Hicks ordered.

"I'll shut it if I can have my snack back, man."

Reluctantly, Hicks handed over the crackers. "You guys can apologize to each other all you want, but I'm still not happy. This has been going on for far too long. Remember when I said I want us to work on our communication? We're still doing that. I expect better from you." He looked at me. "Drake, I'm not tolerating this anymore. How many more days is your sister staying?"

"One," I said. "I asked her to give me a second chance. If she doesn't, it's over."

"Just how many second chances are you two giving each other?" Spunkmeyer growled. "I'm tired of this shit. Throw her out tonight!"

"This is Drake's move, Spunk," Frost said. "Relax."

"You know just as well as anyone that this has gotten insane! She's manipulated Drake into sucking up to her, in exchange for information about his father. God only knows where it'll end, and if she'll even give him the-"

"She has nothing on Dad," I said, rubbing my face. "He left after I went to prison, and she has no idea where he is."

"Then get rid of her! She's nothing but a toxic piece of shit trying to drag you back to the absolute hell that was your blood relatives!"

"Spunkmeyer, that's enough," Hicks said.

Spunkmeyer fell silent, but the rage still burned bright in his eyes.

Hicks sighed. "Listen, I don't care whose fault this is. I really don't. What I do care about is the fact that this entire situation has been a massive distraction. You all know we could be called to action at any time, and we really can't be having things like this at the forefront of our minds. Is that clear?"

Everyone nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I'm going to release you. Drake, Spunkmeyer, Ferro, I want you three to stay behind. We're going to have a private chat."

* * *

We were able to outline the details of the situation without telling Hicks that I was seeing Vasquez. He nodded while listening, and took a draw on his cigarette before speaking.

"Drake, this is your decision," Hicks started. "Your sister's not here, so you can speak freely about how you feel."

"Well, now that I know I'll never be able to contact Dad, I . . . I really don't want Faylene around anymore. This has just been one disaster after another, and it's all my fault," I said. "I wasn't thinking at all."

"You have more options than you think you do. I don't think it's impossible about your father. We can give you access to resources that can help you find him, and we can keep the rest of your family out of it. Besides, it sounds like he's left them for good, so that might not be an issue. If it is, you don't have to suffer through it."

"I won't bother. With anything. I want this to end, and . . . then I just want to be alone."

Hicks didn't respond to that. I could tell he was thinking about it. He then looked at Spunkmeyer and Ferro. "Do I need to talk to Doctor Ranelli about relationship counselling for you two?"

"No," Spunkmeyer said. "Everything's fine. We'll talk in the morning."

Ferro nodded.

"Alright. Spunkmeyer, you do realize you can face brig time for what you did to Drake, right?" Hicks gave him a hard look.

"Yeah," Spunkmeyer said.

"I really shouldn't be letting you off the hook, but I have a feeling this shit won't continue once his sister leaves. If it happens again, you're getting the brig, got it?"

"Got it."

"OK. Go to bed." Hicks looked at me when they left. "When you say, you want to be alone, what do you mean?"

"It means exactly what I said."

"You do know that I'm a little concerned."

"Hicks, we've known each other a long time. Do you trust me? At all?"

Hicks didn't respond. Frankly, that hurt.

Sighing, I left the room, even though I hadn't been dismissed.

When I returned to my bunk, everyone else was already asleep. Laying down, I let my mind wander.

I can understand why Hicks is concerned. He doesn't want me taking advantage of being alone to do something stupid. Frankly, I should've just told him outright that I want to put my mind back together, because I feel like I've been broken again.

I know I made a lot of very bad decisions the last couple days. I know that this really is all my fault, and that's a feeling I've been trying to avoid. Blaming myself for everything.

I realized that, yes, this was a valid point to feel guilty, but how do I keep that from getting out of control? I know it'll get out of control. That's how it's always been for me, but if I put the blame on someone else, that's just as bad.

Unable to sleep, I put my boots and robe on, and headed down to Ranelli's private quarters. Yes, I know it's almost eleven at night, and he's probably asleep, but I felt like he'd have better answers than anyone. Much to my surprise, he was still up, sitting in front of the TV with the guide in his hand and a cup of tea on the coffee table.

"I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you, but . . . can I talk to you?" I asked, softly.

"Of course. I was actually expecting you'd come in sooner or later," Ranelli replied.

I frowned. "How?"

"Not that difficult to hear about your scuffle with Spunkmeyer. Or everything that's been going on in regards to your sister. It was only a matter of time before you sought help. Have a seat."

I sat in a rocking chair, looking around while Ranelli prepared more tea. "I made a lot of bad choices," I said.

"So I heard."

"Can I pull myself out of this?"

"Absolutely. That, like everything else, is your decision. You can choose whether or not you want to make things better, or not."

I was quiet for a moment. "Why did I put something that seemed . . . futile ahead of my own friends?"

"I think that might have something to do with what I had said to you, about how I never intended to be a father figure to you. Perhaps, that wasn't something I should've said to you."

"You didn't know this would happen, though."

"No." Ranelli gave me a small smile. "Even I make mistakes sometimes. I may have taken up the study of the mind and why we make certain mistakes, but that doesn't mean I'm not human myself. I guess I didn't anticipate just how much you wanted the love of your father."

"I almost destroyed myself over this. It . . . None of this would be worth . . ." I sighed, hanging my head.

"Has it made you see just how much your unit means to you?"

"In a way, yeah." Tears rolled down my face. "Goddammit, I almost destroyed them, too!"

"If they truly love you, they will forgive you. After all, haven't they been saying it's your sister who needs to go, not you?"

"Yeah. Wierzbowski said it was a bad idea. Spunkmeyer was saying that Faylene needs to leave."

"And what does that tell you?"

"That if I don't get her off base, Spunkmeyer is going to smash into her apartment with the powerloader and make a mess?"

Ranelli smiled. "Perhaps. But, it should tell you that they still care about you. You are as much a part of their family, as they are to yours, and they will stand by you."

"Even though I've really fucked up?"

"You didn't do any of this with malicious intent, Drake. You were misguided, perhaps even a little manipulated by your sister, but you didn't do any of this with the goal to hurt anyone."

"I still chose it, though."

"And did you learn your lesson?"

"Yeah, but-"

"That's what mistakes are for. It won't do you any good to continue to dwell on it. Accept what happened, and understand that you can do better."

I nodded. "I'm . . . I'm also afraid that I won't be able to let go of this . . . this guilt. I-I know this is what I've done in the past. I know that I have a bad habit of feeling like everything is my fault, a-and I don't know what to do about it."

"Your first step is to apologize to everyone you've hurt. I'm sure that once this is over, once your sister has left, things will return to normal. After all, I don't see you contacting her again."

"Not at all." I looked down at my drink. "I told Hicks that I just want to be left alone, and . . . he doesn't think that's a good idea."

"Why do you want to be left alone?"

"I need to think and put my brain back together."

"Did Hicks say why he doesn't think it's a good idea?"

"He's concerned, like I'm going to hurt myself."

"From his perspective, it's a valid concern. However, I will let him know tomorrow that I see no issue with giving you a day to be isolated with your thoughts. I think you've been feeling trapped for the last few days, is that correct?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Tomorrow, I will arrange a little something for you."

* * *

_Question: Was there a better way Hicks could have handled the situation?_


	9. Chapter 9

Ranelli's plan was for me to go to an isolated part of a beach and just sit. Sit and think. Sit and think and put my head back together.

That wouldn't be until the next day, though. I still have a night ahead of me.

I tried counting Annexers after putting my journal away. I think I got to fifteen jumping the fence before Hudson groaned and stretched, and I was just praying he didn't break wind and send us running for the hall. I actually held my breath, waiting for him to settle back down, which he did. Disaster avoided.

I could feel the hours ticking by slowly. Why is falling asleep such a chore?

I know I did fall asleep at some point, but it wasn't a very restful sleep. I really struggled to just get out of my bunk and put some clothes on. As you can imagine, I didn't even want breakfast, especially when I saw the absolutely pathetic excuse for eggs and toast on the trays.

Oh, dear God, I wanted to cry. I felt like my mind was gradually constricting me, tighter and tighter, until every little thing around me was something that could send me into a tailspin of rage. No one here deserves my anger, so the only other way I could channel it was through sadness.

"Drake? You OK, man?"

I looked at Hudson, seated across from me. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You're not eating, and you just look sad, man."

I shrugged. "I don't know."

Hudson frowned. "You don't look OK, man."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Hicks observing us. "I'll be fine. I just need to be left alone today, if that's OK."

Hudson nodded. "If that's what you want, man."

If it was just me and Hudson, I'd tell him more, but I really didn't feel like spilling my guts in front of everyone.

* * *

I would deal with Faylene when I got back from my meditation on the beach. I really wanted this last confrontation to be with a clear head; I wasn't going to cater to her anymore. I had no reason to. She had no clue where Dad was.

I didn't hear Ranelli talk to Hicks, but I felt like I'd be getting a talk from him when I got back. At least he trusts Ranelli.

Nature was going to throw a cold spell or two our way before the southern hemisphere entered its summer, so Ranelli told me to bring a light jacket. I took my USCM sweater and threw it over my T-shirt before following Ranelli outside.

The sky was completely gray. Not a speck of blue in sight. No sunlight could pour through.

The ferry ride was quiet. It was just the two of us, and a few other Marines from another unit. They were looking out at the sea around us and talking quietly among themselves.

I put my hood up when a cool, salty breeze blew through. Ranelli didn't seem fazed by the misting. He continued looking at the coastline and the skyscrapers of Rio lining it.

When we got off, we walked off the pier and headed down the stretch of the beach. With this weather, there weren't a lot of people, but we kept walking. Eventually, we came to a spot partially guarded by cliffs. There was nobody around.

"I will be exploring the streets nearby," Ranelli told me. "Whenever you're ready, come find me."

Nodding, I sat in the sand. I closed my eyes, feeling the wind in my hood. I let my mind do what it does best-wander.

Ranelli has told me before that sometimes it's best to let my mind go where it wants to go, because it helps me better understand what's going on inside. I just wish my mind didn't pick my PTSD as its first stop.

I took a breath, letting it go.

It's been about a year since I was diagnosed. I know I'd be much more of a panicked mess if this whole incident with my sister had taken place a year ago. I know that things would be much, much worse.

What exactly has changed since I started therapy? I know I've changed, but I can't really describe it, even to myself. I guess, for starters, I've become more open. I feel more comfortable talking to people about what's going on inside my head. I feel like I can explain it. Most of the time.

I'm less scared. Before being diagnosed, I was afraid that this would result in me getting kicked out of the Marines, and I would either be sent back to prison, or put on the streets.

I have something to look forward to. Marriage. My own place to call home. I know I wouldn't have found out about the house just yet if Hornby was still alive, but, according to Delhoun, he would've told me once I got my discharge.

My relationships are thriving. Yes, we're having hiccups, but I'm going to fix things. I know I can fix things.

In all honesty, I can't tell if my flashbacks and nightmares have gotten better or have been the same over the last year. The flashbacks happen a little less frequently, but when they do happen, they're very intense, and the aftermath is always the same; I feel shaky, I shut down, I feel like I've been on a very rough roller coaster. Same with the nightmares. They still happen. The subject matter has changed. I still have dreams about choking and being on Gateway and I sometimes relive the hallucinations I had, but, overall, my nightmares have a bit more variety. I dream about my friends getting hurt, physically and emotionally. I dream about jumping off skyscrapers. I dream about waking up one morning and finding I've been abandoned. I dream about fighting a mirror image of myself.

I think the flashbacks and nightmares are going to continue for the rest of my life. I read that there are some cases of PTSD that just fade with time. I don't think that'll happen with me. Perhaps it is fading, though, and it'll just take a much longer time than it does in most cases.

I also didn't consider the fact that I may have already been suffering due to my arrest. I try not to think about that because at times, it feels too complicated. Look, I'm not lazy or stupid, I just need to learn more in order to really process it.

Given that Hudson had suppressed his memories of what happened in Hornby's lab, I don't think it's impossible that I had suppressed my memories of my arrest. However, I have been able to recall these events without issue. When I first recorded the story of what happened way back when we were stationed in Australia, I didn't experience any off feelings. No mental flinching, no flashbacks, no freezing up and shutting down.

I don't know. It's something I'll have to deal with in time, but for now, I want to take care of Faylene.

I emerged from my mind for a short time when I heard the deep horn of a naval vessel off the coast. Sure enough, a cruiser was out there, probably headed to the base, because I could see the blue and red of the USCM emblem. I watched the ship slowly move in the direction of the island we're on. They were probably delivering supplies or getting refueled.

I've never been on a remote refueling base before. Those are the places you really don't want to be stationed. Up there with Antarctica, the middle of the Sahara, northern Canada, or anywhere in the Himalayas. Refueling bases are situated on islands hundreds and hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles away from civilization. Their main purpose is to provide fuel and relief for ships and aircraft en route to a better base, to prevent them from becoming stranded. Stays at these bases are typically shorter than regular ones, usually only a month, because Command knows how nightmarish these bases can be. You are not called in for combat, because your job there is to man the lighthouses and radios and help the pilots and sailors when they arrive.

Despite the frequent rotations, these bases are oftentimes in bad shape. Hudson had been on one before being sent to this squad. You are crammed in one room with the rest of your sex for bed, and the bunks have about three feet of space between them. They're usually worse than the ones in boot camp. Ventilation is poor, and the bathrooms are less than stellar. You could probably set off a bomb in there and all it would do is take off the first layer of grime. Most orbital stations for refueling transports and war vessels have better conditions.

The other place you don't want to be stationed is the dark side of the moon, because whether or not radios will work is always up in the air. You might go a few days with no communication with anyone.

Sometimes, you might get a signal. Not from Earth. Usually it's from ships coming toward Earth. Most of the time, that's it; we're just hearing messages being sent to Gateway. Occasionally . . . it's not.

The USCM has entire files dedicated to weird signals and messages intercepted from the dark side of the moon from alien ships. There aren't a lot of species that we currently have contact with, and at least with those we do, we can decipher their messages. Trading ships from Arcturus will never send messages to the moon, only Gateway. Many of these strange messages were sent directly to the coordinates of the moon.

Because we're not sure what many of these messages mean, the Marines aren't taking any chances. The moon bases are some of the most fortified in the system. There's been talk of placing vessels in orbit of the moon as both a first line of defense, and a way for any alien ship to communicate with us and confirm they're not going to mean us any harm.

Anyway, I don't want to be sent to a refueling base, or the dark side of the moon, but, that's not my call. I will at some point be sent to either. Every Marine has to do it. Very few exceptions are made. Frankly, I'd rather be sent to a major hot zone, because at least I'd be doing something.

I half-expected someone to come along and pull me from my thoughts. Instead, I looked around, not seeing anyone. I released my breath.

My mind then turned to Casey. A part of me was wishing he'd walk up the way he did when we first met in the Bahamas, but I knew he was a whole continent away. I also knew he'd be starting school soon. Middle school, most likely. A new phase in his life. Another year closer to when he could enlist and become a smartgunner like me.

I began feeling bad when I remembered August was when his birthday was, and I didn't bother to send a message. Then again, I also remembered his parents didn't want us talking because it was hurting his ability to make friends his age.

We'd see each other again, one day. I don't think he would've hesitated to tell off Faylene the first day. And I'll bet he'd be using Hudson's colorful language, too. He would've stood up for me, with no fear of consequences. He wasn't even fazed by the fact that I went to prison.

I missed Casey. A lot.

I realized that I didn't think much about Faylene and my quarrels with Spunkmeyer, and to be honest, that's OK. I think I needed to think about something else to relieve the pressure I was feeling, the feeling of being trapped. I guess I needed to focus on those other thoughts to let my mind decompress.

I felt a raindrop on my hand, and looked up to see the sky had gotten darker in the hour I was sitting there on the beach. Standing up, I wiped the sand from my pants and turned to head into the streets to find Ranelli.

* * *

We sat below deck of the ferry as the rain began coming down a little harder, and Ranelli asked me how my meditation went.

"Is it wrong I didn't really think about . . . what's going on with my sister and my friends?" I asked.

"No. In fact, it was most likely a good thing you didn't center your thoughts on that. It's a lot like giving your brain a vacation," Ranelli said.

I nodded. "I thought a bit about my PTSD, which is a given on any day. I thought about where I could be stationed in the next three years. I thought about . . . about Casey."

"You still miss him."

"Of course I do. I . . . I think he would've made this situation easier. I know damn well he wouldn't have let Faylene get so far."

"You miss his dogged loyalty to you, despite your past."

"Yeah. I know I need to let go, though."

"The only thing you need to let go of is the wish that Casey could have stayed and become a son to you. You do not need to let go of your friendship." Ranelli gave me a look. "You didn't ask your sister about whether she has children, did you?"

"No, and I'm not going to. It . . . doesn't sound like she does, and . . . I-I just don't want to know. I can't."

"You'll have your own children before you know it. You have a lot of love to give, and I sense you want to express it. It is a very powerful emotion, one you must be careful with, because there are some who'll take advantage of you. Your sister was one of them."

"Why would she get so angry at the fact that I'm happy with other people?"

"Jealousy. And perhaps fear."

"I don't follow."

"From what you've told me about your household, it sounds like your mother controlled everything. It also sounds like the rest of your family encouraged it, rather than step in and say this isn't right. Faylene may not have the financial ability to leave. She may not have a friend or boyfriend to help her get out and give her a place to stay. Who else could she turn to? You."

"Why couldn't she just say that?"

"Again, possibly fear. Fear of someone finding out. Being in this situation for so long can stunt someone's emotional intelligence. The only thing you know is domination by intimidation, and that's what she's done to you."

"Am I supposed to feel bad?"

"Depends. I don't think you should instantaneously sympathize because I presented a theory to you, but it is something to think about. I think it's best you send her away, but leave the door open. Maybe things will change. After all, you wanted people to see that you had changed."

I nodded a little. "I guess that makes sense. I just wish I knew all this sooner."

"You never asked. I also noticed you didn't come in the last several days. Why?"

"I dunno. I guess I was afraid Faylene would see me and ask why I'm seeing a 'shrink.' I mean, I've told you I'm not going to tell her about my PTSD."

"You did mention that."

The ferry came to a stop, and the captain gestured for everyone to get off. I trailed Ranelli back inside the base, my hood still up. I put it down as soon as I saw a sergeant from another squad. Apone's typically lax on us wearing hoods when the weather is less than favorable. Other sergeants . . . not so much. I remember Hudson got royally chewed when he was seen with his hood up in the snow a couple years back. I mean, it's part of an issued piece of clothing, I don't see why we can't use it when it's raining or snowing. Then again, I also think most sergeants wake up acting like someone took a dump in their Cheerios, and they think we're all guilty of taking that dump in their Cheerios.

Ranelli headed back to his office, and I decided I should just talk to Faylene now. The longer she stays, the more strained my relationships are going to get. I knew I had to be the bigger person; I cannot stoop to her level. I should just be as kind as I can, which is hard considering all that's happened. Then again, what good will getting angry do?

I just had to remember what Ranelli told me, even if it's just a theory he's proposed based on my account (and my account only) of what my life at home was like. Yes, my mother was controlling in more ways than one. I can remember my sister and I were spanked when we were little, but as we got older, punishments changed to taking things away, or something bordering on verbal abuse. Everything had to be up to her standards, including us. She did not hesitate to talk crap about us in front of other people, whether it be relatives or just people she knew in the store. I can vividly remember being called a quitter, and lazy, and a dimly-lit bulb.

Do I want to send Faylene back to that? No. No one deserves to be stuck with this. But, if this is the only way to get her to learn that she can't get what she wants by acting this way . . . so be it. It's up to her now. She can learn and pull herself out of this, or become just as unbearable.

I took a deep breath before knocking on the door to Faylene's apartment. I was not going to chicken out this time. When she answered the door, I bit my lip, then spoke. "I think it'd be best you leave."

Faylene shrugged. "Well, that works. I didn't want to stay longer anyway."

"Listen, I thought we'd actually talk like normal people when you came here. I thought . . . you know, we could actually make things worse and I'd be able to have some level of coexistence with my blood family and my Marine family. The way you've treated me, and the guys, and the fact that Dad's disappeared just . . . ruined that. I should've stopped when I saw that this was going nowhere, because it's hurt my friends. I dunno. Maybe if you had just told me the truth about Dad leaving and not been so angry when I said Mom treated him bad, things . . . things could've worked."

"In all honesty, Mark, maybe the timing on this was wrong. Maybe I shouldn't have jumped at the chance to see you again." She went back into the apartment, grabbing her bags. "Maybe things will change in the future. Just . . . don't bother writing or calling."

"Didn't plan on it." I walked with her to the gate.

The rest of the unit had gathered when they heard Faylene was finally leaving. They stood in the hallway, watching.

"And what the hell is your problem?" Faylene said when she saw the look on Spunkmeyer's face.

"Piss off, would you?" Frost replied. "Can't even leave the base without running your bullshit. Not a single one of us is going to forget what you did. Anyone who tries to come between us and Drake is not gonna last very long around here."

Vasquez stepped out of the line. "Hey, Frost? I've got something I'd like to say to this _pendejo_-"

Before I could even blink, Vasquez had delivered a hard, fast punch to Faylene in the jaw. Faylene was undoubtedly stunned, and Vasquez looked like she was winding up for another when Apone gestured for her to stop.

I grinned a little as the MPs took Faylene out to the ferry. "That was a nice right hook."

Vasquez gave me a dirty look. "Yeah? I'm saving the left one for you."

* * *

_Question: In the stories after "Ice Star," should Drake attempt to reconcile? (And a bonus, how do you think Gorman would've handled this situation?)_


	10. Chapter 10

In case you're wondering, I wasn't actually punched, but Vasquez did slap me hard across the face when we were alone in the armory. Several times.

She also raised her fist to punch me, but stopped. I flinched a little, and she lowered her fist. "I really should do it," she said, taking a breath.

"Then do it," I replied. "I deserve it."

"No. With you, I'll draw the line at slapping. Just . . . you don't deserve to be punched."

"But I-"

"No, Drake. I was the coward this whole time. If I wasn't so secretive about us, then you wouldn't have felt forced to lie."

"It was still wrong of me to lie."

"I shouldn't have put you in that position! Can you stop blaming yourself for just one minute of your life?!"

"Am I allowed to say that I think we were both wrong here?"

Vasquez looked down at the floor, then back up at me. "Fine. We were both wrong."

"Thank you. Now what?"

"We make sure this never happens again."

"Alright. I don't think there'll be a next time, but if there is, we're both going to come clean. No lying, no hiding, OK?"

"OK."

"Are we good?"

Vasquez nodded.

"And now . . . we breathe. Faylene is gone. We will never see her again. We will never deal with that caliber of bullshit again."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure we will deal with all manners of bullshit when we become civvies."

"But we're going to deal with it much better than we did the last couple days."

"I will hold you to those words, Drake."

"Good. I want you to. I was very naughty this week." I put my arms around her.

"Drake, I'm really not in the mood for your goofiness."

"You're always in the mood for my goofiness. Besides, when was the last time we did anything . . . truly secretive?"

Vasquez gave me a look, then gestured for me to go further toward the back of the armory, where I laid my belt my smartgun's rack.

Neither of us were anticipating anyone walking in on us, but, luckily, that someone was Wierzbowski. Although, it was very unlucky for him.

". . . I think there's some extra rags in the armory," Wierzbowski was saying to someone out in the hall. "Let me go-oh, bloody hell." He left, slamming the door behind him. "Never mind. I . . . think they're in the linen closet."

* * *

"I have one question for you, Drake," Wierzbowski growled when we were getting ready for bed that night. "_Why?_"

"Why what?" I asked.

"Why the hell were you and Vasquez having sex in the armory?!"

I shrugged. "We felt like it."

Hudson laughed.

"You do realize that anyone else could've walked in, and you'd be in a heap of trouble, right?" Wierzbowski kept glaring at me.

"And you walked in, got scarred for life, and all was good," I said. "Nothing to worry about."

Spunkmeyer snorted. "Ferro and I did it in the linen closet."

"Of course you did," Wierzbowski muttered.

"Twice!"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"Nothing beats a bed, though," I said.

"I'll stand by my words. You people are-"

"Bonkers. We know." Spunkmeyer tossed his uniform trousers in his rack.

"I guess that means Vasquez ain't mad at you?" Hudson said, leaning over his bunk to look at me.

"Didn't take much," I replied. "We talked a little. Agreed we'd never do what we did again, and then . . . I got a little silly, so we . . . went in the back and had some fun. That was it."

"That simple, huh?"

"I guess. I mean, Faylene's gone. There's no more bullshit we have to deal with for now. We know what we did wrong, and we're going to make sure it doesn't happen again. Nothing much to it, probably because we've done this before, many, many times."

"She puts a lot of trust in you, man."

"Maybe a little too much," Spunkmeyer muttered from his bunk.

"Hey, you and I are having a little talk tomorrow about what happened," I said. "We both have some apologies to give."

"Sure, but I'm certainly not fucking you afterward."

Hudson snorted, trying to cover another laugh.

"All three of you need to shut up and go to sleep before I come down there and tie your pillows around your heads," Wierzbowski groaned from under his blanket.

* * *

It was the first morning in several days where breakfast was quiet. Wierzbowski still looked annoyed about yesterday, but I expected that would pass in time.

Glancing across the table, I noticed Spunkmeyer was focused on his food, not paying much attention to anything else around him. I could sense he wasn't looking forward to our talk. Frankly, I don't blame him. I wasn't looking forward to him getting enraged on me again.

After breakfast, I met Spunkmeyer in the loading bay. We sat on the floor, in between crates that he needed to move with the powerloader. He sighed, then looked me in the eye. "First things first, Drake, can we . . . keep this conversation between us? Don't tell Hudson, or the girlfriends. Just . . . keep it between us."

"OK," I said, a little confused. He seemed really reluctant about doing this earlier.

"Thanks." Spunkmeyer looked up, and took a breath. "Yesterday, Ferro and I talked about our relationship. Everything's fine. We both understand what you were doing and . . . we all should've handled it better."

"That's what I said to Vasquez yesterday," I replied. "Lots of mistakes were made, and . . . we don't want to repeat them."

"Exactly. Ferro . . . also told me some of the things your sister said about me, and how you stood up for me, and . . . I never got to tell you that I appreciated that. Even in the face of absolute shit, you . . . you showed whose side you're on. Thank you."

"You're more my bother than Faylene is my sister."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Thanks." He looked down at his lap. "I have been thinking, though, about . . . some things that've happened in the past. I mean, you were the one I talked to when I was recovering from the silver flower, and I should've talked to you more after I'd been shot down, because . . . you know things about trauma that most of us don't. Suffering in silence and closing myself off from everyone, including Ferro, probably wasn't a smart idea. I'm fine, but . . . what if things _didn't_ turn out fine?"

"You've got a lot of help at your disposal," I said. "You've got an on-site therapist, and all of us to talk to. I don't think you'd be in as bad a position I was in when I first realized something was really wrong with me."

"You got a point. You're kinda the one who made everyone less afraid of talking about stuff like this."

"Am I? I didn't think I was."

"You've never thought highly of yourself, Drake."

"That's true." I smirked. "Getting better, though. Everyone else can see it. I'm still struggling with it."

"You just admitted you were getting better with it."

"I did?" Oh, I did. I really did. That hit me hard. After all this, I admit, even to myself, that I've been getting better? I looked down, suddenly struggling to process everything.

"You OK?"

"Yeah . . . yeah . . . I-I'm just surprised I finally managed to admit that, and I didn't even have to think about it. This is definitely a step in the right direction for me."

Spunkmeyer grinned. "And you did it in front of me. I'll bet you thought you'd do this in front of the doc or Hudson or . . . somebody other than me."

"You're right. I did think that would be the case." I sighed. "I mean, I also didn't think I'd be able to admit it at all to anyone. I guess good things really do happen when you least expect it. Which is funny, because you choked me a couple nights ago and sent me into a panic."

"Yeah . . . I shouldn't have done that." Spunkmeyer looked down again. "I should've just hit you, not . . . pin you to the ground and choke you till you had a flashback. That was . . . That was cruel."

"I still deserved it."

"No. Not that. Getting punched? Yeah, but not . . . not what I did after."

"If you say so."

"OK. I'm sorry. Do you . . . accept my apology?"

"Yes. And I'm sorry for what I did with Ferro."

"Apology accepted. Your sister's gone. We can move on." Spunkmeyer leaned back against the crate, putting his boots up against the one across from him, and folded his hands over his belly. He looked at the bandage brace on his right ankle. "Thinking about it, it's really not just a couple days ago where I was hostile to you."

I glanced at him.

"Remember when we first arrived at this base, a couple days before Ferro and I were shot down? How I got pissed at you out of . . . I guess jealousy?"

"That's right. You were angry, but you took it out on Wierzbowski."

"Still, after everything you've done, I shouldn't be jealous or angry."

"It's something you can work on," I said. "I'm not mad that you were angry or jealous. I don't look for rewards whenever I help you guys."

"Thanks. I guess I'm saying this because I think we should be better friends. I know I'm an asshole sometimes, so . . . whaddaya say?"

I shrugged. "Well, if you let me help you, then, yeah. We'll be better friends."

"Should we . . . go for drinks tonight?"

"Uh, I'm doing the drinking. You still have a few months to go before you can, buddy."

* * *

Everyone's routine was quick to shift back into place in the days following Faylene leaving. In a way, it was like nothing ever happened. Frankly, I wish I could act like nothing ever happened, but with my memory, this is going to stick around for a long time. Every fuck-up. Every argument. Every terrible decision.

I guess the important part is that I'm getting better at bouncing back and fixing myself. If this had happened a year ago, things would be a lot worse. I had a lot less control.

The weather was better today than it was the day I sat alone on the beach. I was on the roof of the base, looking at the skyline on the coast. There wasn't a cloud above, the complete opposite of a couple days ago. Down here, we're inching a little closer to summer. Way up north, we're inching closer to winter.

I haven't been stationed anywhere for a real winter in a few years. Last year, we were in Australia for their winter, and then we went to Spain, where winter is wet, but not terribly snowy. Of course, we had the Norway mission, but we didn't stick around for very long. Then we headed to D.C. in the spring, and spent the majority of summer there, leaving at the end of August.

It's funny I say that, because I can't stand the cold. Solitude in winter seems more terrifying than solitude in summer. On base, you tend to be cooped up inside more often, and it can drive people nuts. Dietrich will get pissy with you if you don't take your vitamins.

Why do I want to experience a cold winter, then? I guess a change in scenery. That, and now that I've had one real Christmas with my unit, I'd like the rest of my Christmases to be like that. They're my family, and nothing is going to change that.

Well, things have definitely changed in the last year. It's not just Vasquez and Hudson I trust anymore. It's pretty much everybody. I have time to think of what I'll do for them this year, but I should get on it sooner rather than later.

Yes, it means I will do something for Dietrich. Christmas is when we put aside our differences-well, I'll put aside my differences. God only knows if she'll do the same.

Three years is a short time, but also a long time. In three years, I can become a civilian. In three years, I'll be able to move right into the house Dr. Hornby left me, and take Vasquez with me. I'll be able to get married, and have a kid.

Then again, I'm well aware that things might drastically change in three years. To be completely honest, I don't want to think about what could happen if things go wrong. I'm not trying to paint a skewed picture of reality; I just haven't reached that point in my therapy where I'm ready to process what to do if my goals become unreachable. Plus, I'd rather talk about it with someone than think about it on my own, because I know what'll happen if I think about it on my own; I'll overthink, I'll panic, and then I won't be able to sleep. After the last week or so, I'd like some restful sleep. I can't afford to keep setting myself back with this.

I was getting worked up already. Taking a deep breath, I drew my legs up, and rested my chin on my knees, trying to get myself to enjoy the sun on my back. Eventually, I did, half-closing my eyes and feeling the warmth soak into me. Maybe it's just me, but the feeling of the surface of your skin and muscles relaxing and not tensed up with goosebumps is one of the best feelings in the world. I knew that when I went back inside, the AC would be cranked, and I'd be covered in gooseflesh again, tense and cold. I'll stay out here for as long as I can.

At some point, I did fall asleep, and Hicks sent someone to get me because it was time for lunch. Of course, he had to send Hudson. Let me ask you, is Hudson going to tap my shoulder and say it's time to go to the mess hall? No. No, he's not. What does he do? He picks me up and flops me over his shoulder, carrying me back down into the base, calling, "I got him, man!"

Good for you, Hudson. Good for you. "Could you put me down, now, dumbass?" I said.

"Good morning, man! Hicks sent me to get you because it's chowtime."

"You couldn't just tap my shoulder or shake me a little? You had to physically drag my ass back inside?"

"Yeah, man."

* * *

The weather stayed nice when Spunkmeyer and I left base. It was just the two of us, no girlfriends. We were greeted by a deep pink sunset as we rode the ferry out to the mainland.

"Rio's no New York, that's for sure," Spunkmeyer said.

"Somehow . . ." I grinned, "I knew you were going to say that at some point."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I've been very homesick for the last six years. For the city, not . . . not what I grew up with."

"Kinda figured that."

Spunkmeyer glanced at me. "You never did find out whether your dad wants to talk to you again, did you?"

I shook my head. "I'm not going to worry about it. Not now anyways. I know he left, but I don't . . . want to bother him. And I don't want to get caught up in any drama."

"That's understandable." Spunkmeyer fell silent, looking down at the water before looking back up at the skyscrapers being bathed in the pink hue of the sunset. "I still have bad dreams where I'm calling out for my dad, even though I've had years to process that he's gone and . . . I have no shot at seeing him."

"Either a part of you still doesn't accept it, or you're looking for someone in your life to be a father figure to you."

"In flight training, that was Lieutenant Evison. We used to call, but . . . over the last few years, we haven't spoken much. Part of me is worried something happened."

"Well, maybe you could get back into contact. Wouldn't hurt."

"You don't think I'll get in trouble for being friendly with an officer?"

"If you haven't gotten in trouble for kissing Ferro during PT, I don't think anyone will care if you're just friends with an officer. I do think, if you're worried about these dreams and your relationships, you should talk to Doctor Ranelli. He'll help you get a perspective on things that you didn't even think was possible."

"He has helped me in the past, so . . . I'll ask."

We stepped off the ferry and down the pier toward the beaches and the city itself. I looked up to see a couple of people hang-gliding near the mountains, and smirked. "Hey, maybe that's something we should do someday."

"And have Hudson vomit all over people sun-tanning? No, thanks."

"Oh, come on! That'd be the highlight of the day!" I laughed.

"You do have a point, there. All the shit Hudson does is the highlight of any trip. Here's how it would go; we'd be all ready to get the gliders, and then Hudson says he wants to eat first, and nobody can argue with him, so we let him go. We wait for him to stuff himself with whatever he can find, and then we finally go hang-gliding, just so he can puke all over the beach."

"That sounds incredibly accurate," I snorted. "We should do it."

"Oh, no, no, no, I don't want to be in the room when Captain Reynard asks us about a puking Marine over the damn beaches."

"He'll probably ignore the rest of us when he finds out it was Hudson."

"True."

We found a place serving drinks, and although Spunkmeyer had to have something nonalcoholic (he lied to the bartender and said he was having a stomach issue so he wouldn't get picked on for just having a water), I gave a toast.

"To a fixed friendship," I said, raising my whiskey.

"Yeah." Spunkmeyer clinked his glass against mine. "And to yous proving yourself to your actual family, us bunch of nutters. Cheers and whatnot."

We drank, and then Spunkmeyer said, "You know, Wierzbowski's reaction to catching you and Vasquez was hilarious."

"'Oh, bloody hell,'" I said with a snort. "Next time, we'll be in the linen closet when he's getting new sheets."

"You can't go in the linen closet."

"Why not?"

"Because that's my spot with Ferro."

* * *

_Question: What more does Drake have to do to repair his relationship with Spunkmeyer?_


End file.
